


the glory of the spring

by jjcofeesa



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: (that last one is very very minor and not in depth AT ALL), Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety, Depression, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mentions of Masturbation, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mild Language, Normal AU, Spring Awakening (Musical) - Freeform, Suicide mentions, canon compliant douchebaggery, death of characters in a play, domestic abuse, gross misunderstanding of how technical theater works, hhhhhholy shit this fic took a lot out of me, i say "oh god" so many times in this fic it might as well be blasphemy, overuse of spring awakening lines out of context, slow burn but only kind of, theater kids au, this was supposed to be 1-5k and its. its not.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-05-08 16:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjcofeesa/pseuds/jjcofeesa
Summary: Simon Snow was prepared for his last musical at Watford Academy–- no, scratch that, he was excited as hell to be doing Spring Awakening. He wasn't exactly prepared to co-star with his on-again-off-again girlfriend.And he definitely wasn't prepared to play Baz Pitch's best friend.(aka: a high school theatre au where they do spring awakening because i have no self control.)





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> WOW this was supposed to be Much Shorter than it ended up being but yeah, hope you enjoy!!
> 
> the lines in italics at the beginnings and ends of sections are specific lyrics from different songs in the musical spring awakening. chapter one uses lines from totally fucked, whispering, and and then there were none.

SIMON

_There’s a moment you know: you’re fucked._

Staring at the newly-posted cast list for our winter musical, I have to laugh at how ironic that line is now. Sure, Melchior is absolutely one of my dream roles, but the universe must’ve really had it out for me when it decided to plant the idea in Ms. Possibelf’s head that _Agatha_ should play Wendla.

I know I shouldn’t be complaining. Agatha is a wonderful actress with a heavenly voice. But. It’s Agatha. My ex-then-not-so-much-an-ex-girlfriend. We’re currently back together, but who knows how long _that_ will last. I don’t even think she likes me, especially after I saw her _making eyes_ (or whatever Penny called it) at Baz.

 _At least she’s having stage-sex with me and not Baz,_ I think, and then I almost feel guilty about how good I feel about that.

 _Speaking of which, who is Baz playing?_ I scan the list to see who he’s cast as.

Finally, my eyes catch on _Baz Pitch – Moritz Stiefel._  Moritz Stiefel. Melchior’s best friend.

My worst enemy is playing my best friend.

Yeah, I’m fucked alright.

Baz absolutely _hates_ me. We’re roommates, unfortunately, and these past few years have been a living hell. (Thanks, random room assignments from Watford Academy!) He once pushed me down a staircase because I kept the window open all night. Our room is hot! Well, okay, maybe he had been making fun of me first, and maybe I did throw the first punch. But still! Doesn’t justify throwing me down a set of stairs! I’m lucky no one was there to see it, but I still wish he got in trouble for it, especially because he bragged about it for _months_ afterward.

Penny thinks I’m obsessed with him, but she’s wrong. I _have_ to watch out for him, especially after I caught him flirting with Agatha at the end of last year. Also, he’s my roommate. I can’t avoid him if I try.

Now I have to act like he’s my best friend for four months while we do this show. Wonderful.

_You can kiss your sorry ass goodbye; totally fucked, will they mess you up? Well, you know, they’re gonna try._

AGATHA

_Listening, for the hope, for the new life._

I don’t exactly know what I’m hoping for. That Simon will magically step down from one of his dream roles so that Baz could _potentially_ take it? That Baz will even want to switch roles, especially after he looked… proud of his role?

I shouldn’t hope for something like that. Simon is my boyfriend, and Baz and I don’t even _know_ each other that well. And besides, what could I even say to Baz? _Hi, I find you incredibly gorgeous and interesting and like a mystery I need to know all of the twists and turns behind_ doesn’t exactly seem like the way to go.

Is it wrong of me to hope Baz likes me? Even though I _know_ Simon’s in love with me, even though everyone thinks we’re a perfect couple, even though dating him is convenient for this show?

Penny tells me later that I look that I’m floating. She thinks it’s because of my happiness that I got the lead, but really I don’t care that much. The role is wonderful, and I’m excited for that much. But I just feel like I’m floating away, like a balloon with a cut string. I want to be happy, but all I can think is _How can I do this?_

I don’t have an answer.

A year ago, I would’ve been _ecstatic_ . Simon made me happy then. _We_ were happy then. And this show is just so good, I should be able to ignore all of these feelings. And I will be able to, once we start acting and actually creating the show. Once we can escape the real world. I can convince myself to be happy long enough to throw myself into these scenes.

I convinced myself I loved Simon once, but I just don’t think I can do it again.

_Such a shame, such a sin._

BAZ

_Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh, well fine. Not like it’s even worth the time, but still,  you know, you wanted more._

I want to be happy with this role, but all I can think is _Of fucking course._ Of _course_ I’m the clueless, anxious, mess. Of _course_ I have to play alongside Snow. Of _course_ Simon and Agatha are the perfect golden couple.

Of _course_ they’d cast me as the one who kills himself. If only they knew.

The only way they could’ve made this more ironic is if they cast me as Hanschen. (Thank _God_ I’m not Hanschen. My father would throw a fit.) (Gareth got that part instead, and I’m still surprised; his singing voice is very average. At least he and Rhys will act that part well together.)

But seeing Simon and Agatha as Melchior and Wendla is like salt in a wound.

God, seeing the two of them _golden_ together like that, and having a chance to show it off makes me sick to my stomach. One, because Agatha keeps giving me glances like she wishes it were _me_ instead of Simon. (Which I _have_ to laugh at, really.) (Really, that girl is so oblivious sometimes. It’s a wonder she still has a boyfriend.) Two, because I can’t _stand_ to see Simon that lovesick all the time. (He’ll say it’s because I hate him. He’s wrong, but I’ll die before I tell him the truth _._ )

At least I have scenes with Simon. He might hate my guts, but he can’t deny that we act well together. Hate translates well into passion, or something like that.

I haven’t told anyone that I don’t actually hate him. I haven’t told anyone that really, I have the most gigantic, tragic crush on Simon Snow. And he hates me.

At least we can pretend to be best friends for four months.

_Sorry, things’ll never change, been there before._

  



	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rehearsals start and it's- well. they definitely start, let's just say that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics for this chapter are from the bitch of living!

BAZ

 

_It’s the bitch of living, living in your head._

I walk into our first rehearsal, grab a folding chair, flip it around, and flop down, folding my arms on top of the back of the chair. I’ve perfected the art of looking cool even though I feel like a fucking disaster. It’s been a long week, and I’m really not in the mood to deal with Simon fucking Snow.

 

Ms. Possibelf already has her clipboard out, which is the thing that dictates how I spend the rest of my afternoons for the next four months. The thing that dictates how often I have to act with Snow. I already hate it with a passion.

 

Speaking of which, Simon Snow himself is sitting next to the one and only Agatha Wellbelove, and they seem to be deep in an argument. I can’t say I’m surprised, and I don’t feel the least bit guilty at how happy I feel that they’re in rough water.

 

“Hello, everyone, let’s get started,” Ms. Possibelf says, tapping her pen on her clipboard. About ninety percent of the kids are listening. There’s a few freshmen who still think they’re above Ms. Possibelf’s reign of theatrical tyranny. (She’s nice and genuinely cares about us all, but she’s almost as strict as my father, and that’s impressive.) “And as we talked about in auditions and workshops, the material of this show is not to be taken lightly. So if I hear anything that in any way seems to mock that, you will be kicked out of the show.”

 

Everyone is listening now. Watford Academy is _known_ for producing good shows, and if you get a part, you keep it. That’s how it works here.

 

“On a new note, today we’re working on separate things. Girls, come with me to the studio. We’re going to work out ‘Mama Who Bore Me Reprise’ musically. Boys, stay here with Keris. You’re learning the ‘Bitch of Living’ dance. It’s fine if you don’t know the words yet– you’ll learn them tomorrow.”

 

There really is no adjustment period with Ms. Possibelf. Keris, who’s in our year but still gets away with running choreography, waves awkwardly at us.

 

I sigh as the girls move to get to the other room, leaving me, Simon, Gareth, Rhys, Dev and Niall in a room to dance. Lovely.

 

“Alright, hi guys! We’re starting with this one because, really, ‘All That’s Known’ is boring and I doubt you guys have had time to work out the Latin, which’ll be important. Do any of you know your parts?”

 

SIMON

 

Baz is the only one who knows his part besides me. The tosser. And really, I only know my part because it’s the chorus. It’s not a hard song for me to learn.

 

“Okay, that’s fine! Can everyone grab a chair?” Keris asks. Rhys jokingly grabs onto his wheelchair as if he’s checking it’s still there, and Keris blushes, bouncing on her toes and apologizing. Everything about her is so bouncy, I can see why she and Trixie are still going strong after two years.

 

We put our seats in two rows of three and Keris leads us through the very beginnings of the dance. It’s not too bad, actually! I feel like I’m getting the hang of it after a few runs through.

 

BAZ  


It’s an absolute disaster.

 

 _None_ of these pricks can dance. Gareth is probably the only antithesis to dancing, closely seconded by Snow. Keris wrote different choreography for Rhys to work in with his wheelchair, and he actually seems to be keeping up with it. Dev and Niall are acting like they’re too cool for dancing, which just aggravates me, but I can’t pick a fight when I’m focusing on Simon fucking Snow not accidentally hitting me in the face like he did to Gareth.

 

I watch the clock the whole time, watching seconds tick into minutes until finally an hour is over. The girls come back in, laughing and chatting and looking thoroughly un-annoyed. Simon immediately saunters over to the side of the stage and tries to make eye contact with Agatha, and she gives him an eye roll and a soft smile. All the tension goes out of his shoulders, and he smiles genuinely for the first time all rehearsal.

 

It’s like a light switch with those two. One minute they’re light and joy, the next, Agatha’s cold and Simon’s sad. But they always seem to choose when that happens, and they always seem just so fucking _golden_.

 

It’s day one and I’m already fed up with their light.

 

GARETH

 

Rehearsal ends, and Rhys and I make our way back to our dorm. He’s launched into an in-depth story about _the craziest dream, bro,_ but I’m only half listening. I can’t stop thinking about how Baz’s face closed the hell off when Simon and Agatha started talking. Guess he’s not over Agatha yet. Explains why he hates Simon so much.

 

“Gar, dude, there were robot sharks involved and you didn’t even react. You here, dude?” Rhys asks, and I shake my head to clear it.

 

“Yeah, sorry, I just- was thinking about rehearsal, I guess.” It’s not wrong, per se, but Rhys sighs like he’s embarrassed.

 

“Is it… our scene?”

 

Now I’m confused. _Our scene? Is it really that bad?_ “What? No I- uh, I actually didn’t read that far yet.”

 

“Oh. Just- just tell me when you do, alright? Don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

 

“Bro, you’ve seen me drunk-cry over armadillos before, I don’t think I can _be_ uncomfortable around you.” He relaxes at this.

 

“So… still hung up on how they’re just ‘scaley puppies’?” Rhys responds slyly.

 

“No.” My voice cracks.

 

All the weirdness from our earlier conversation is gone, and we’re just laughing again like we always do. Rhys and Gareth, Gareth and Rhys. Watford’s Best Bros three years running.

 

Nothing will change that, ever.

 

Right?

 

SIMON

 

I’m exhausted. I always forget how _tiring_ rehearsals are, especially in the beginning. Plus, Baz was snickering at me for being a bad dancer, but really, we all knew that I was a bad dancer ever since I tripped over my own feet at the eighth grade dance and knocked over a table. (Not my best moment. Baz _still_ won’t let me live it down, and we’re seniors this year.) But I had fun with the other guys, just messing around. It’s easier to ignore Baz that way, and I actually enjoy myself like this.

 

It’s just hard sometimes, pretending to be happy and energetic all the time. I’m definitely super drained today, and it takes too much effort to shower and change into pajamas, so I collapse on my bed. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, but when I wake up it feels like I didn’t sleep at all.

 

Whatever, I have classes to worry about. Sleep can wait.

 

BAZ

 

I feel terrible. I couldn’t sleep last night, and Simon was having another nightmare. His thrashing is enough to keep anyone awake, but really, I just couldn’t stand to see him in pain. I’m just so fucking _tired_ of seeing him hurt. Especially because at one point, I swear he said my name. Like he was scared of me.

 

By the time I drag myself awake, he’s already getting ready for classes. I wish I could hold him in my arms and make his nightmares go away. But instead, I carry this stupid fucking crush around, a constant weight between my shoulders, while he remains oblivious. I want to say something to him, but there’s nothing I can say right now. Luckily, Snow starts the conversation for us.

 

“Hey, Baz?” He’s standing in front of the bathroom door, and he looks nervous and angry all in one.

 

“Snow,” I respond flatly. (I shouldn’t be expected to be tolerant first thing in the morning.)

 

He takes a deep breath. “Just don’t– don’t screw with Agatha these next few weeks, alright? I _know_ you like her and I just don’t want… anything to happen right now, okay?” He sounds so agitated that for a moment I wonder if this was his nightmare. But then his words sink in.

 

 _I know you like her._ Oh, Simon, you massive moron.

 

I laugh harshly. “I’m not trying to pull one over on your girlfriend to fuck with you, Snow.”

 

He begins to bluster his way through a sentence, but I’m annoyed now. How _dare_ he think I’d be trying to screw his life over as if it were a joke. As if I would want to turn Agatha into a cheater, as if I’d be the one to ruin their integrity. And I know it’s unreasonable, but how dare he assume that of all people, I’d want picky, aloof, Agatha?

 

“No. You know what? You’re being ridiculous. I don’t _care_ about your relationship, or about your girlfriend, or about you. Now move, so I can get ready,” I snap, and shove past him.

 

“It’s because she likes you too,” I hear him murmur as I slam the door. I splash cold water on my face and then just stand there until he leaves our room.

 

I’m just so tired of this. Of fighting, of caring so much I feel like I could burst and destroying it with knives thrown by my tongue. Of hearing about Agatha Wellbelove, as if she’d ever be someone I could love, for Christ’s sake. (Sorry, Simon! I’m too in love with you to want to get with your girlfriend!)

 

I wish Simon Snow didn’t hate me, and I wish I didn’t make it worse.

 

_It’s the bitch of living, just getting out of bed._

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow my tumblr: @infinityonhighvevo


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could baz and simon actually be real friends in real life? more at 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from all that's known :)

SIMON

 

_ All that's known in history, in science: overthrown at school, at home, by blind men. _

 

Rehearsal today is… well, it’s different. Ms. Possibelf has me, Baz, and Philippa Stainton running our lines for the scene before Touch Me, just to memorize them. Baz and Phillippa don’t really get on, mainly because he made fun of her voice when we were younger and she can hold a grudge like no one’s business. 

 

She used to have a crush on me, throughout middle school, and I don’t know that it went away, but she’s a brilliant actress and not the strongest singer, so I can’t be upset that she’s playing the adult women.

 

We’re just reciting our lines in order, with no acting behind them, and so we’re also throwing a ball around to try and distract us. Ms. Possibelf insists that it works for keeping things memorized, but really it just shows how uncoordinated theatre kids are. 

 

But it’s still weird, saying these lines. It’s weird to talk about jacking off with Baz, especially since neither of us do that around the other. (Baz is weird about being without clothes. He panicked once during sophomore year because I walked in while he was in his underwear.) 

 

But anyway, it’s weird to hear Baz ask about how women feel during sex. Almost as weird as hearing myself respond as if I know what I’m talking about. (Which, in a sense, I guess I do know more than him on this subject. I’ve never even  _ seen  _ Baz be interested in a girl other than Agatha, and it’s not like he’s had sex with her. I would know.)

 

“We’ve run through this three times, d’you think we could take a break?” I ask, finally sick of saying the same things over and over again. I guess Ms. Possibelf is right on making these lines familiar this way – I feel like they’re burned into my skull.

 

Phillippa nods and buries her head in her phone. Baz sighs and collapses in a chair. I go outside and get a drink. Not really about that “sitting in silent animosity” type of hangout. But I don’t have anything else to do, and Penny’d bite my head off if I tried to talk to her while she’s stage managing. She gets like that.

 

I come back into the room and sit a chair away from Baz. It’s silent for a bit.

 

Finally I can’t stand it anymore. “So, how’d you do on that Poli Sci exam?”

 

Baz huffs. “The essay? Not great.”

 

“ _ Wow,  _ a one Basilton Pitch not getting a perfect score? I’m shocked!” I say dramatically, hardly holding back a smile. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend he’s a friend.

 

He laughs. Honest to god, laughs without a single mean intention. “Very funny, Snow. I got a B+. How about you?” He actually seems genuinely interested, and for a moment I think  _ fuck it  _ and let all the hate towards him melt away. He’s just another boy, not a monster.

 

“You consider a B+ bad? I got a B- and I’m  _ happy  _ about it!”

 

“Not all of us can be naturally gifted,” he snipes, but I can tell he’s joking. I snort.

 

Penny opens the door and peeks her head in. “Ms. Possibelf needs you guys.”

 

Phillippa huffs and saunters out the door, red curls bouncing. I forgot she was there, honestly.

 

Baz and I look at each other, and we half-smile at each other before heading back in.

 

I really don’t know what to think about him. On one hand, he’s been nothing but rude to me and Agatha the whole time we’ve been dating, and he can be downright nasty at times.

 

But people change.

 

I decide that I can’t decide now, but that I’ll give him space. I decide I’ll drop my army if he’ll drop his. Maybe he’ll tolerate me now.

 

Then I think of him this morning. And how angry, how mean he was. I want to be hopeful, to think he’s grown up, but I just don’t know.

 

I guess I’ll just trust my judgement in the moment.

 

_ Still, I know to trust my own true mind, and to say, "There's a way through this..." _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow my tumblr: @infinityonhighvevo


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: discussions of a past suicide mention, as well as a character in a musical who commits suicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from don't do sadness

SIMON

_ Awful sweet, to be a little butterfly; just winging over things and nothing deep inside. _

“Alright, none of you seem to be ready to work songs from Act One, so for the rest of rehearsal I’m going to run through what I can of  _ Don’t Do Sadness  _ and Moritz’s final monologue _ ,  _ so the only one I need is Baz. The rest of you: enjoy this early dismissal, because it won’t happen again,” Ms. Possibelf announces, frustrated with our lack of focus. She all-but-glares at all of us over her glasses. (I’m almost positive she doesn’t need them.) “Don’t let this happen again. Tomorrow - off book for Act One unless you want me to be very angry.”

 

For a second, everything is quiet. Then, once it’s clear she’s done talking, there’s a flurry of sound as kids rush for backpacks and zip up coats to walk back to the dorms. Baz stands up gracefully, script in hand, and walks up to center stage. I can’t help but notice there’s a dip in his shoulders, as if he’s utterly exhausted. I briefly wonder if he’s okay, but I chalk it up to general worn-out-ness from the show and go to gather my things.

I check my pockets, and  _ yep,  _ I’ve forgotten my key. I text Penny to see if it’s in her dorm, but she says she’s not there. Guess I’ll have to wait for Baz to let me in. I’d rather wait here anyway, I’ll get more work done.

Ms. Possibelf gives me a look to say  _ get out of the theatre _ , which is one I’m too familiar with. Freshman year, I used to hide from Baz here and do my homework. I grew to love the shitty old arts building more than any other on campus.

 

Ms. Possibelf taps her clipboard again, and this time I  _ know  _ I need to leave. I guess I understand; this scene is important for Baz to nail and I’d probably just be a distraction, but I’d still love to see him get it on its feet. I might hate him, but he’s a mesmerizing actor, and really, I don’t hate him all that much anymore. Doing scenes with him has actually been a nice change of pace for us, which is its own dimension of weird. (But hey, if I’m acting better I’ll take the unexpected truce with Baz. Even if he likes my girlfriend.) And we’ve been talking more recently, too. Like yesterday I made a joke during rehearsal and he honest-to-god  _ smiled _ . He’s only smiled at me like that twice at this point. I don’t want to ruin that.

I slip quietly out the door.

BAZ

Simon leaves, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Ms. Possibelf beckons a hand to me, and I sit on the end of the stage. I’m expecting her to ask all of the usual questions she asks when we’re working on a scene, like  _ what does your character want  _ and  _ how are you going to show the audience that  _ and  _ why is your character doing and saying these things _ .

What I don’t expect is for her to sigh and ask, “I know you’ve worked on this by yourself, but are you okay to do this scene with music?”

 

I’m confused. “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“Are you okay to do this scene emotionally, Basil?” She still calls me Basil after all these years. 

I answer without a thought. I  _ can’t  _ think about it. “Yes.”

“You don’t need to lie to me. This is a rough subject, and I need to make sure you’re okay with this before we work on your acting for this monologue as well as for your bits of the song.”

“I’m completely fine.”

What I really am is a liar.

SIMON

I sit in the lobby as I wait for Baz to finish up, and I’m starting to have regrets about my brilliant plan. Who knows if he’ll even walk back with me, or if he’ll let me in? He’s done stuff like that before, lock me out of our room. 

I listen through the door as the music begins to play. Harsh guitar, and then Baz’s voice, even harsher. I can almost taste the contempt that Moritz has, and for a moment I let myself get lost in the anger and self-hate of the song.

Ms.  Possibelf pauses the song, and she and Baz talk for a bit. From what I can hear, not very much is said. Baz seems to be responding in short quips to everything she’s saying, which I guess is just typical him.

The music starts up again, this time after Ilse’s solo. Ms. Possibelf is just working Baz’s bits of the song today because Trixie’s got a horrible cold, and I can tell that Baz is happy about that. He hates Trixie, although no one really knows why. I think he just finds her annoying. 

Finally, the song transitions into the background for Baz’s monologue. 

Baz’s suicide monologue.

BAZ

 

_ I don’t do sadness, not even a little bit; I just don’t need it in my life, don’t want any part of it. _

I let the music wash over me. I let it transform me into Moritz, although there’s not far for me to go. I become that person; the one so angry, so broken, that my only choice is to kill myself.

I become the boy who let a golden last hope slip through my fingers. 

“I’ll tell them! I’ll  _ be  _ an angel.”

I become the boy who wanted to throw himself out the window his roommate kept opening. The boy who went an entire year barely making it through each day without the heaviness in his head. The boy who wanted so  _ badly  _ to just end it. To follow his mother in death.

“Ten minutes ago, you could see the whole horizon. Now, only the dusk. The first few stars… it’s so dark.”

It’s so dark in my head.

_ So dark. _

I can’t feel the ground, I can’t feel myself. Is there me left? I float offstage. I get a drink. I talk to Ms. Possibelf, thank her for rehearsal, deflect her questions about my wellbeing.

 

I turn from boy into cloud, vapour wisping through the sky, water with none of its destructive force. 

 

But the thing no one tells you about clouds? They weigh a million pounds.

 

I push through the door, turning from cloud into hurricane. And then I start crying.

SIMON

Baz is crying. 

 

Full out, ugly sobbing that looks like he’s taken all of his restraint to ignore for weeks.

 

I don’t move a muscle.

How do you console your enemy? Especially when you don’t want to be his enemy—not anymore?

 

“Baz?” My voice creaks to life as if I haven’t used it in years.

 

He jumps and turns away from me, whipping a sleeve across his eyes. “Snow.”

 

“Baz, are you-”

 

“Fuck  _ off,  _ Snow.” For the first time in ages, I remember why I was scared of him when I met him. His voice is enough to send anyone running.

 

But not me. Not today. Penny says I’m too stubborn for my own good, and I intend to prove her right.

 

“Hey. Look at me?” I say softly.

 

He does, and something in him collapses. Something in me too. I wrap him in a hug, and he’s sobbing again.

 

BAZ

 

I’m weak. I’m so weak.

 

I should push him away. I should shove him off and tell him to get away, just like I do everyone else.

 

But he’s so warm and he smells so good and I can’t stop shaking and I’m just so  _ weak _ .

 

“Simon…” I whisper into his hair after a while, hoping he doesn’t hear me.

 

But because I’m perpetually unlucky, he does, and he immediately steps back, faced flushed and eyes on his feet. “Oh. Um, sorry.”

 

“No it’s… it’s okay. Thank you,” I mutter. “I was just going to ask why you were still here.”

 

If it’s possible for his face to get redder, it does. “I, uh… forgot my key for our dorm.”

 

I can’t help myself. I laugh.

 

SIMON

 

Baz is full on laughing at me now. I shove him lightly. “Alright,  _ alright _ , I get it! I’m a dipshit sometimes, I know!”

 

That just makes him laugh harder, but in a different way. His laugh is softer now, like the first fall of snow, and it’s as if we’re friends rather than enemies. I like this so much better than arguing.

 

We walk back to our dorm in almost comfortable silence, and I’d be happy if knew for sure he was. I can practically hear him thinking the whole way back. We get to our room, and Baz lets us both in. He collapses on his bed, and I hop in our shower. We don’t say anything. By the time I leave the bathroom, he’s already under his covers, pretending to be asleep. I turn out the lights and get into my bed. 

 

“Baz?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“You… okay?”

 

He doesn’t respond for a bit, and I think for a moment he’s fallen asleep.

 

Then, so softly I almost don’t catch it: “I will be. Thank you.”

 

I wish I knew what he was thinking.

 

BAZ   
  


I don’t know what I’m thinking. But the darkness has calmed down into a puddle, and there’s a golden light named Simon keeping it at bay, and I find I don’t mind so much.

 

_ Don’t do sadness, so been there. Don’t do sadness, just don’t care. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow my tumblr if ya wanna see more of me: @infinityonhighvevo


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> breakups, coming out crises, awkwardness, oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from my junk!

AGATHA

 

_ It’s almost like loving, sad as that is. May not be cool but it’s so where I live.  _

 

“Again.” Ms. Possibelf says strictly. The music starts, and we get into positions. 

 

We’re running through My Junk, and I wish I could have my head in it. But all I can think about is Simon. 

 

“In the midst of this nothing, this miss of a life, still there’s this one thing just to see you go by…”

 

I’m singing about being in love with someone I’ve only really seen from afar, and I can’t help but think about me and Simon. (Especially because his character is who I’m supposed to be singing about. Go figure.)

 

We used to be like that. The love-at-first sight perfect couple. The Golden Ones, as Baz liked to tease us. 

 

Now I feel that same kind of wistful, childish want when I look at Baz. Or rather, when I’m not looking at Simon. Does that make me a bad person? I just feel like I’m drifting through the scenes with Simon. 

 

I know he cares about me, but I want to be free. I want to  _ be _ without being someone’s. 

 

SIMON

 

Rehearsal ends, and I’m feeling pretty good! I didn’t hit Gareth (or Dev) (or Niall) in the face again while dancing, and I consider that to be a successful practice. 

 

I’m gathering my stuff when Agatha calls softly, “Simon?”

 

I turn to face her, but I’m still fiddling with the zipper on my backpack. Damn thing always gets stuck. “Yeah?”

 

She’s not looking at me. She picks at her fingers and throws a piece of hair over her shoulder, and she won’t look at me. 

 

“Is everything okay?” I ask. I stop messing with my backpack. 

 

“I don’t think we should be together. For good.”

 

It’s like she’s stopped time. 

 

“W- why?” Did I do something? Did I not do something?

 

“I just don’t, Simon, okay?” She sounds tired. 

 

What can I do? 

 

I don’t fight her on this. She walks away, and I don’t try and go after her. Instead, I trudge back to my dorm. 

 

My phone buzzes. It’s Penelope. 

 

**Hey, Agatha just told me she broke up with you are you alright?**

 

**In all fairness I did say not to get with her again but**

 

**That still sucks & I’m here if you need **

 

thanks penny

 

I sigh, and put my phone back in my pocket. I don’t check it again until I’m grabbing for my key once I’m outside my dorm. Penny’s texted me three more times. 

 

**You know what, she really has no reason to dump you like this**

 

**I’m coming over there**

 

**You better let me in when I get there**

 

I walk through the door and collapse on my bed. Or rather, I try to. Penny’s already here, and I end up collapsing in her lap instead. 

 

PENELOPE

 

“Ow,” he mumbles, and then, “Hi, Penny.”

 

His face is buried in my lap, so I can’t really tell if he’s crying or not. He doesn’t seem to be, and so I consider that a positive. 

 

Simon sits up and rests his head on my shoulder. “Pen, why— why’d she have to do it now? Couldn’t she have waited for, I don’t know, a fight or the end of the show or something? Why now?” His voice breaks a little, and he flops backwards onto his bed, arms over his eyes. 

 

“And make both of you miserable for longer?” I ask softly. 

 

He huffs and sits up, taking a hand through his hair. “I guess you’re right, Penny. Thank you.”

 

I give him a hug. “That’s what I’m here for.”

 

Simon sits back and leans on his hands. “How’d you get in here anyway?”

 

I grin at him and wiggle my fingers. “Magic.” 

 

He laughs. “Seriously, Pen.”

 

“Your door was unlocked,” I admit. 

 

“It—  _ how?” _ Watford is  _ infamous _ for having really good security on their dorms, which is why we all carry keys for our door. Simon’s door just happened to not be closed all the way, and I thought that was his way of letting me in. Turns out, it just wasn’t closed. 

 

I begin to say something, but then the door clicks. 

 

“Baz,” Simon grumbles, then looks at me. “Shit, Penny—” 

 

And just like that, there’s a blanket being pressed over my head. 

 

BAZ

 

Simon looks so pathetic when he’s flustered that it’s adorable. (Damn it all to hell.)

 

“Uh, hi Baz!” He squeaks. Literally squeaks. ( _ Why  _ is this the boy I’m head over heels for?)

 

“Snow, I’m pretty sure whomever you’re attempting to Desdemona doesn’t appreciate it. Is that the fair Agatha?” I say, mockingly. He flinches on hearing her name. Interesting. 

 

The blankets flip up to reveal a slightly disheveled but fully clothed Penelope Bunce. “While I appreciated the  _ Othello  _ reference, I am neither fair nor Agatha.”

 

Had it not been for Snow, I think Penelope Bunce and I would have gotten on well. 

 

“What, pray tell, are you doing here?” I ask her, ignoring Snow’s blistering completely. (If there’s anything that isn’t endearing about him, it’s his inability to form sentences.)

 

She and Simon share a look. He shrugs and covers his face with his hands, and she sighs. Before she can say anything, however, Snow mumbles quietly, “Agatha dumped me.”

 

She—  _ what? _

 

I guess it makes sense, that Penelope would be here to comfort him, but I can’t help but to feel both giddy that he’s single again and angry that Agatha would make him this upset. 

 

Both of them look at me as if they’re expecting a reaction—Simon’s face is nervous, Penny’s apprehensive—but I don’t know what to say. 

 

SIMON

 

After what seems like an eternity, Baz finally says, “Well, alright. I’ll leave you two alone.” His tone is neutral, but I can tell he’s hiding something behind it. (I can never  _ really  _ tell. He’s always plotting. Penny gets mad at me for thinking so, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable for him.)

 

The asshole’s probably excited that he can date Agatha now that she’s single. What a git. 

 

He leaves, and I collapse back into Penny. 

 

BAZ

 

_ God,  _ I wish he didn’t hate me. 

 

I wanted to give him space, and he looked at me like I’d just stolen his (ex) girlfriend. Which, to be fair, he probably thinks I’m going to do that now. 

 

I begin to walk around campus. I don’t really have anywhere to go, but the walk is peaceful, so I’m glad to go anywhere, really. I need to clear my head after the whole Simon-Agatha debacle. 

 

And, speak of the devil, here comes Miss Perfect herself. She looks as though nothing has happened, and my heart clenches in anger again. How dare she wreck Simon like that and have the gall to look like nothing has happened?

 

“Basil,” she says calmly as she falls into step next to me. 

 

“Wellbelove.” I keep my voice as cool as possible. 

 

“So. Simon and I just broke up.” Of fucking course. Of  _ course  _ this is what she wants. 

 

I sigh. “What do you want from me about that?”

 

She stops walking. “Well, I mean, we could—”

 

“No. We couldn’t. I’m not your rebound, and I’m not your way of getting back at Simon for whatever reason.”

 

“I don’t want you to be a rebound and I don’t want to get back at Simon! This is about us, not him,” she half-shouts. Luckily there’s no one around. 

 

I’m too tired to fight. “I am not an option for you.”

 

“Why  _ not? _ ”

 

I hesitate. Do I tell her? Do I have a choice? 

 

I can’t do it. Instead I say, “Goodnight, Agatha.”

 

“Good _ night?” _ I hear her call indignantly from behind me.

 

AGATHA   
  


I don’t know what I want him to do. 

 

Do I want him to run up after me and tell me that really, he’s in love with me and then kiss me? Do I want him to be mean, to just rip into me and tell me no? I don’t fucking know.

 

I just want to feel something.  _ Anything.  _ It’s like my whole life I’ve never felt. I feel like a broken China doll, except all the damage is on the inside. The exterior looks perfect, but if you shake it hard enough you can hear the pieces rattling around inside its hollow interior. 

 

BAZ

 

I make it halfway to my dorm before my brain catches up to itself. I almost just came out to Agatha. I almost just  _ came out _ . Not a soul knows I’m gay. I’ve never told anyone.

 

Actually, there’s one person that does. Trixie. 

 

She had looked at me one day, pointed to the other guys in the show and went, “Which one?”

 

I had stared back at her dumbly. “What?”

 

“Which one of them do you have a crush on?”

 

I hadn’t said anything at the time, just glared at her. She had laughed lightly and said, “Give it time.”

But yeah, the only person who knows is Trixie.

 

I  _ know  _ that she’s not going to out me. She’s gay too, for Christ’s sake. But I still didn’t sleep for a week after she figured it out. I’ve never said  _ I’m gay  _ out loud before. It’s just been something I’ve known, but no one else has. My secret.

 

I haven’t told my family. They’d probably disown me, too, so I don’t necessarily want to tell them any time soon. And what would I say? Hello, Father, Daphne, Aunt Fiona, I’m gay and also in love with the headmaster’s charity project? Yes, the very headmaster who replaced Mum? Yes, the one you hate very, very much? I don’t think so. 

 

But I don’t know that I can’t hold this in forever. I guess we all have things to hold on our backs. Some of us more than others.

 

_ We’ve all got our junk, and my junk is you.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: @infinitynonhighvevo


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh, dear.
> 
> warnings: asshole parents, violence, coming out gone wrong, pressure over grades, boys with impossible emotional elasticity.
> 
> enter the mage, stage right. enter malcolm grimm, stage left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics: dark i know well, mirror blue night

SIMON

 

_ There’s a part I can’t tell— _

 

It happens in the middle of my math class. 

 

“Simon, the headmaster wants to see you,” the Minotaur says, hanging up the phone. (His name isn’t actually the Minotaur, but everyone at Watford has called him that for years at this point, and no one really wants to stop.)

 

There’s some snickering. Everyone knows he took me out of foster care and public schools to bring me here, and there have been some  _ interesting _ jokes about why. None of which are true. Really, I just think he wanted to do  _ something _ besides run a school. It’s not like he’s my dad, though. I take care of myself, and if my grades are good enough, Mr. Mage pays for my school fees and my room and board. 

 

It’s last period, and I have good grades in math, so I don’t mind missing the last five minutes. This meeting is probably about my grades, anyway. He does that sometimes, pull me out of class to discuss how I’m doing this semester. 

 

I walk into his office, and nod to Ms. Possibelf, who’s walking out of a meeting with him. “Sir, you asked to see me?”

 

He turns around and already I can tell something is wrong. “Simon. Come in, and shut the door behind you.”

 

This isn’t out of the ordinary. He hates when his door is open—he says that people take it as an invitation to walk in for no reason. 

 

“Sit.” I do. He begins furiously typing on his computer. I assume he’s pulling up my transcript. 

 

“Is this meeting about grades, sir?”

 

His eyes flash. “Would I have called you in here otherwise?”

 

I sink into my seat. Guess this semester isn’t to his standards. 

 

He gets up and begins to pace. “Do you know  _ how much  _ I sacrificed to get you here?”

 

Shame bubbles in my throat, burning my insides. 

 

“Do you know how much of my reputation I damaged for you? Only for you to throw it away on  _ theatre _ ?”

 

The concoction of shame still boils over in my throat, but now anger is heating up over my ears, pressing on my eyes, my cheeks, my forehead. 

 

“You have a goddamn  _ C+  _ in Biology! I did not bring you to this school to have you fail like this!”

 

He’s yelling at me as if he were my father. “Sorry, sir, I—”

 

He cuts me off. “No. I do not have  _ time  _ for your idiotic blustering. I could’ve wasted my reputation on someone else, for Christ’s sake, rather than a  _ simpleton  _ who can’t even pull above a C+ in Biology!”

 

The pressure’s too much. I explode. “A C+ isn’t a fail! I have that because it’s a class I don’t understand, and my friends are tutoring me to help me! I am  _ trying.  _ And the show is something I  _ enjoy!  _ It lets me be who I am. And why should  _ I  _ be the one to carry your reputation? I didn’t  _ ask  _ for it! And it’s not like I’m your son or anything—”

 

He slaps me dead across the face. I stumble backwards in shock. I shouldn’t’ve let my mouth run like that.

 

“Get your grades up, or I take back your funding,” he threatens, quiet but firm. 

 

I walk backwards to the door, not turning my back on him, and fumble for the handle. I keep myself together until I hear the door shut behind me, and then I run. 

 

My mind is completely blank. I don’t think about anything. I  _ can’t  _ think about anything. I keep

running. 

 

I run until my face dries and my head cools down. I run until I’m all the way out by the soccer fields, and then I take a sharp right over to the little office where Ebb and the other coaches are. Ebb coaches the girls’ soccer team and does groundskeeping. I became close with her when I was a sophomore and I was having trouble with Baz. She helped me clean some wounds after Baz and I had really bad fights. 

 

Ebb is the only one in the office, and she’s cleaning off some of the equipment. 

 

She takes one look at me, at my red face, and wraps me in a hug. “Again?” she asks softly, pulling away from me and holding my shoulders softly. 

 

I nod. 

 

She grabs the antiseptic and starts working. I wince a little at the sting, but I mostly let her take care of my face. 

 

“Simon—”

 

“ _ No.  _ He threatened to kick me out! He threatened to take my funding—” Damn it, I’m crying again. 

 

“Wait.” Ebb pinches the bridge of her nose. “This is Mr. Mage? The  _ headmaster  _ hit you?”

 

I go cold all over. “Who—who did you think it was?”

 

She’s angry. “I thought it was another fight with the other boys! I thought you’d started fighting again. Simon, this—this could get him  _ fired!  _ This is a big deal!”

 

“Don’t say anything.  _ Please,  _ Ebb,” I plead. “That’ll only make it worse.”

 

“But—”

 

“Please.”

 

Ebb looks at me, and the fire goes out of her eyes. She sighs. “Fine. But one more threat, and I go to the police.”

 

“Ebb—” I start, then change my mind. No use arguing. 

 

I leave her office when my face is less red. There’s still a mark, but I’ll pass it off as a cut from shaving. 

 

— _ about the dark I know well. _

 

BAZ

 

_ Flip on a switch, and everything’s fine.  _

 

I get a text from my Aunt Fiona around 7:30. 

 

**_be ready. he’s there for a business meeting as a donor but he’s coming by your dorm for five minutes._ **

 

Wonderful. My father has decided to make an entrance. Granted, it’s a Friday night, so if there was any time to drop in, it would be now. (And it’s not like I do anything exciting on Friday nights either.) Doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it. 

 

I hear my door click, and for a second I think it’s my father here to interrogate me and lament the state of the school. But it’s just Simon. He comes in cautiously, and he won’t look at me. He doesn’t look at anything but the bathroom door. It shuts behind him, and I hear the shower turn on. 

 

I take the opportunity to change into fresh clothes and smooth out my hair. Then, I straighten up my half of the room. (Father would be more delighted if  Mage’s brat looks more like a mess than he is.) (Never mind that Snow is anything but a brat.)

 

Snow shuffles out of the bathroom and collapses in his bed. He pulls his covers weakly over his head. 

 

“Snow, do you want me to get Bunce?” I ask.

 

No response. 

 

“Simon?” I ask, quieter. 

 

He doesn’t move. 

 

There’s a crisp knock on the door, and I decide that Snow has to wait. Besides, my father takes precedent. 

 

I walk outside to greet him and shut the door behind me. “Hello, Father, my roommate is sleeping. Could we walk around campus instead?”

 

He looks at me and responds, “Yes, that would be fine.” He seems genuinely happy to see me, and I’m struck by how weird it looks on his face. I realize a moment later that it isn't very genuine. It’s his business smile. But he looks more tired than usual, and he’s not trying to hide it. It’s worrisome, seeing that little bit of composure gone so quickly. It’s more worrisome that I noticed. That he isn’t hiding it. 

 

We begin the walk around campus, and it’s quiet. It isn’t very warm, but my sweater protects me from the wind enough. As we walk in silence, my mind races. 

 

My father and I were never very close. He does take pride in me, I think, but he’s been distant my whole life. I think he knew I liked Mother better as a small child, which is a ridiculous reason to remain distant for, 14 years after she died. 

 

I still miss her. I don’t have much memory of her, other than sitting on her lap and her giving me sweets when she wasn’t supposed to. But my father’s been trying to move on for 14 years, and I don’t know how much progress he’s made. 

 

We don’t talk much on the first half of our walk, just light small talk about how each other’s lives are. Once we hit halfway, my father drifts into contemplative silence. 

 

Then he asks me, “What are your plans for the future?”

 

As if that’s not a loaded question. 

 

“Go to college, get a stable job doing I’m not sure what.” I don’t tell him my plans also include falling in love with a man who isn’t Simon Snow. 

 

“Well, would you run my company? I cannot maintain it forever, and Basil, you’re smart and a brilliant businessman.”

 

I’m shocked. Not only is that  _ not  _ what I want, I never thought he’d offer. My father runs a very successful business, and he holds it with an iron grip. I don’t know what he sees in me. 

 

“I will think about it,” I tell him. “I would like to go to university first, though.”

 

“Alright. I would like it if you were close by, Basil.”

 

Is this his backwards way of saying he misses me? I don’t want to be under his thumb my whole life. 

 

“I don’t know what I want to do yet, Father,” I say quietly. 

 

“Yes, Basil, I know, but I would just—I want to be able to be around when you have a family of your own. To talk with your wife, to watch your kids when you need…” He doesn’t say  _ so you can take my job and I can take your family  _ but it’s close. 

 

I can’t help but to wonder:  _ seriously? _

 

He’s been on this type of tangent for years, and I think it’s because he never had siblings of his own to do this with. My father loves the idea of family, but his is so small he can find something to dislike about every person. Seems like I’m his last hope for a family he likes.

 

And I pity him, sure, but it doesn’t mean he can take my life and live it. Not only that, the “your wife and kids” comment makes me go cold. How can he just assume that I want those things? I can’t stay silent for much longer. 

 

No, I won’t. 

 

We’re outside the door now. I turn to him. “I don’t know what I want to do, and I do not want to be pressured into running our business. I don’t know if I want a family or not. These are all  _ my  _ decisions to make, not yours. You do not get to plan my life out.”

 

“I want you to live well! I want you to have everything I gave you and more. I want you to have a wife and kids and a full, happy, home with money so you don’t have to worry!” He’s full on scolding me now. I have never seen him lose composure like this. 

 

I can’t help it. I explode.

 

“Those are things  _ I  _ decide! I don’t  _ want  _ a family if it means I have to work your job and never see them while you take my place! And besides, I’m not going to have a wife. Ever.”

 

Fuck.

 

“What?” he breathes. He’s absolutely furious now. 

 

“I’m gay,” I say, hoping to sound firm instead of scared. 

 

He says absolutely nothing, and I know I can’t be around for when he gets his mouth running again, so I say curtly, “Goodnight, Father,” and go into my room, shutting the door firmly behind me. 

 

SIMON

 

I shouldn’t have heard any of that. 

 

I’m facing the wall, pretending to be asleep, and Baz apparently doesn’t notice, because he turns and punches the wall. It does absolutely nothing except hurt his hand. He lets out a sob, and I have to restrain myself from wrapping him in a hug. 

 

_ No one _ should sound that heartbroken. 

 

But if I show that I’m awake now, he’ll know I heard the whole conversation. (Our walls are super thin. Which is... super unfortunate at times.)

 

He goes into the bathroom for a long time. The shower runs and runs. 

 

I can’t stop my mind from racing. Baz is gay? Why did he hit on Agatha then? I guess he could be bi, but he wouldn’t have said that bit about never having a wife ever. That means I’ve just been a dick to him for no reason for years. 

 

But why did he mess with our relationship so much? Probably because he knew it would screw me up so bad. He literally had nothing to lose from it, I guess, so no harm to him. I want to think of him as a massive prick, but I can’t help but just feel bad right now. His father sounded so controlling, like he was living Baz’s life for him. 

 

And the way Baz stood up for himself? I wish I could be that brave. 

 

I never had a family like that. Or rather, I never really had a family. I bounced between foster homes and orphanages for the first ten years of my life, and when I’d started here I was a bit behind academically. Maybe if I had come to school earlier I would be able to keep up joe. I wonder if my father would’ve cared about my grades. I wonder if my dad would’ve treated me like Baz’s did. 

 

The bathroom door creaks open, then clicks shut. 

 

“How much of that conversation did you hear?” Baz almost-whispers, quiet but firm. He’s not looking at me. I can’t help but to feel like the jig is up. 

 

“Enough. Baz, I’m—” I almost-whisper back. 

 

“No. I don’t need your pity.”

 

Pity? “Baz that’s—that’s not what I was going to say.”

 

“Then spit it out, Snow,” he snaps. He still has his back to me. 

 

“You’re so brave,” I say quietly. 

 

He’s silent and for a minute I think he’s ignoring me. Then I see his shoulders shake. He’s crying. 

 

“Hey.  _ Hey _ . Come sit,” I say softly, sitting up and patting the bed next to me. It feels weird, being friends with Baz. But he needs one right now. 

 

He gives me a watery scoff, but does it anyway. 

 

“Do you want a hug?” I ask, before I can think against it. He bites his lip, then nods and collapses into my open arms. 

 

He’s so cold, and he’s still shaking a bit from crying. But it’s… nice, to hold him. I find I don’t mind so much. 

 

He sits back and runs a sleeve across his nose. “Sorry.”

 

“No. You just did an incredibly brave thing. You don’t need to apologize to me.” I don’t really know where this is coming from, but these seem like words he needs to hear. His eyes well up again, but differently. It’s almost like he’s grateful. 

 

Long after Baz gets out of my bed and climbs into his, I’m still thinking about how cool to the touch he was. I’m always warm, so it was… nice. To hold him in my arms like that. 

 

I don’t want to think about what that means. Not yet. 

 

BAZ

 

I don’t even want to  _ think  _ about my father again tonight, so I focus on Snow. 

 

He was so close to me. I could feel his heart, beating. I could feel him breathing. He was holding me, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He was so warm, and I’ve never wanted anything more than his warmth. 

 

I want to tell him. To be brave again, to tell him I’m in love with him. To grow up and get over my fear, especially because I know he’s okay with me being gay.

 

But instead, I’m stuck staring after my crush like a third grader who doesn’t know what feelings are. 

 

_ It’s broken inside; I’m a man and a child.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> infinityonhighvevo.tumblr.com


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: canon-compliant discussions of dead parents
> 
> simon and baz?? having lots of issues and yet slowly becoming friends?? its more likely than you'd think
> 
> also: penny figures something out. she's always doing that, but this time it matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics: mama who bore me, left behind

PENELOPE

 

_ Mama who bore me, mama who gave me— _

 

I’m lying at home, enjoying the long weekend and the fact that school  _ let  _ me go home, when my

mom hustles through the room carrying tons of papers. A small piece falls off the top, and she doesn’t seem to notice before she locks herself in her room to continue working. (My mom’s a professor and a researcher. She’s currently attempting to work on both at the same time, which is going about as well as you’d expect.)

 

I pick up the photo. It’s one of hers from her time at Watford. She’s sitting all the way left, with her arm around the woman sitting next to her. The third person is very clearly Headmaster Mage, although I’ve never seen him look this happy or this in love. He’s staring at the woman in the center and grinning. There are no other photos in our house of this trio. I vaguely recognize the woman in the middle, though from where I have no idea. 

 

“Hey, Mama—” I begin to call, then stop myself. I  _ swear  _ this woman looks familiar, and I want to figure it out before my mother notices the picture is gone. 

 

Before I can even set up a game plan, my phone buzzes. It’s Simon, and he wants to FaceTime. Mystery solving can wait. (Especially because I ignored his call last time.)

 

I answer the phone and begin walking to my room. “Hey, Si, what’s up?”

 

He’s laying on his back, and he’s got his computer (my old computer) propped up on his knees. “Pen, I’m having a crisis.”

 

“I  _ swear _ if you got something stuck in your hair again that I have to cut out when I get back—”

 

I hear a cackle from behind the camera. “ _ Really _ , Snow, that happened more than once?” So Baz  _ is _ still in the room. Wonderful. I really thought he went home for weekends like this. 

 

Simon turns red. “Shut up,” he mumbles. 

 

“What’s the crisis, then?” I ask. I don’t want to rile Baz up any more than he already is. 

 

“Bio is _kicking my ass,_ ” he huffs. 

 

“They call that course AP Die-o for a reason, Simon. I don’t know why the hell you’re taking it, especially because you’re not even going into the sciences,” I respond, rolling my eyes. 

 

“Hey, I don’t know that for sure yet! And besides, I’m not the one who signed up for it,” he says, dropping his voice at the end. 

 

“What do you mean?” Baz and I say at the same time. 

 

“Basil,  _ why  _ are you still here?” I snip. He ignores me. 

 

“The Mage does all of my course selections. I’m only allowed to pick one class, and it’s theatre,” Simon mumbles. 

 

“There’s no way that’s allowed. He can’t manhandle you like that! Why does he try and control you so much?” Baz rants, before I could even speak.

 

“Baz, it’s  _ fine _ . We’re not going through this again,” Simon responds, exasperated. I raise an eyebrow at him and he mouths  _ later.  _

 

“Whatever. I’m going to get some food. Want anything?” Baz asks. 

 

“I’m okay. Thanks, though,” Simon calls back. I hear their door click shut, and then I start laughing, confused. Simon groans. 

 

“What the  _ hell  _ was that?” I ask, getting my breath back. 

 

“ _ That’s  _ the real crisis,” he says, covering his face with his hand. 

 

“Okay, how did that happen? You guys hated each other before I left.”

 

“Not—not really. We’ve been getting along a lot better because of rehearsal for a while now.” He pauses, as if debating whatever he’s going to say next. I think back to the past few weeks of rehearsal, and yeah, they did seem like they were actually friends. 

 

“But?” I prod. He definitely had a second part to this. 

 

“Baz is gay,” he says quietly. “And he told his dad, and it didn’t go well, and I felt so  _ bad _ , Penny. He’s just been stuck here like me these past few days and it turns out he’s not actually evil, just lonely and—”

 

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down are you—are you and Baz  _ friends? _ ”

 

He grimaces slightly, turning a bit pink. 

 

Oh _.  _

 

“You have a crush on him, don’t you?” I excitedly ask.

 

Really, his embarrassed, flustered, pile of fragments and syllables to assure me that  _ no, we’re just—we’re kind of—friend…ly?  _ is kind of funny, but it reassures that he’s deep in denial. 

 

I snort. “Just let it be for now. Ignore that I said anything.”

 

I hear a door open on his side of the phone and Simon loudly goes, “Okay, thanks, Pen, bye!” and hangs up. Yeah, really great case for not having a crush. 

 

I glance at the photo that I found earlier, of my mom and her friends. (Could I consider the headmaster her friend if they aren’t friends now?) Then it clicks. Why I know that woman. 

 

Her face is dead identical to Simon’s. Simon, who doesn’t know who his parents are. Simon, who ended up at Watford because of the Mage. (It’s an awful nickname, the Mage, but it’s stuck somehow and I can’t stop using it.)

 

Simon, my best friend who deserves the truth. 

 

Time to do some research. 

 

The first thing I do is ask my mom her name. My mom barely even looks at the photo before quietly saying, “That’s Lucy,” and putting her head back in her work. She looks like she’s blinking back tears, so I don’t ask further. 

 

Instead, I look in my mom’s yearbook. Surely enough, there she is, voted Cutest Couple with none other than headmaster supreme of Watford Academy David Mage himself. (I wonder if he’s able to feel love anymore. I never pegged him for the Cutest Couple type.) In small font below the superlative, it lists their names, meaning she must be Lucy Salisbury. 

 

I type her name into WhitePages. No results other than one in the UK, and she’s too young to be this woman. 

 

Okay, so not on WhitePages. I move on to an online newspaper archive I found in fifth year. It’s run through a local library, and it’s actually super helpful. (Don’t ask me why I know about this newspaper archive, though. It’s a very long story.)

 

I type  _ Lucy Salisbury  _ into the search bar of the database. It loads for a second, then shows me

one result, from June 21, 1998. 

 

An obituary. 

 

I scan it, not really taking most of it in. Until my eyes skim over the phrase “died in childbirth”. I read further.  _ Lucy died in childbirth due to unrelated physical weaknesses. She is survived by her infant son, Simon Salisbury. No husband or father was present, and her son will be fostered if no caretaker comes forward. Flowers can be sent to— _

 

Oh. 

 

I can’t tell Simon now. I can’t tell him his mom died giving birth to him, that his dad wasn’t even there to see either of them. I can’t break his heart any more than it already is. But I don’t want to keep this to myself. 

 

For the first time in a while, I really don’t know what to do. 

 

_ —no way to handle things, who made me so sad.  _

 

SIMON

 

Baz and I have only been… friends… for about two days, but I can tell something is off today. 

 

For one, he’s still in bed when I get up. 

 

“Baz, d’you need anything?” I call, as I’m walking out the door. (I wanted to meet with Ebb to talk about show music and the whole Baz Situation.) (Besides coaching soccer, Ebb does the music for our shows, which is why I know her.)

 

There’s a beat. “Some tea would be nice,” he says quietly from under a pile of blankets. That’s a bad sign. I’ve only seen Baz drink tea a few times: a few weeks ago when he broke down after rehearsal, Friday after he’d come out to his dad, and once in fifth year on a random weekend in March.

 

I return as quickly as I can with tea from the dining hall. (They’re open twenty four hours on long weekends. It’s great.)

 

I hand him his cup. Gently, I say, “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

 

I don’t know what good I can do, but I know I can listen. I hope that’s what he needs. 

 

BAZ

 

_ The talks you never had, the Saturdays you never spent, all the grown up places you never went.  _

 

It’s been thirteen years exactly since my mother died.

 

I don’t remember much of it, other than what I have been told over and over again. There was a break-in at our home while we were sleeping. The robber was armed. Two people died–the robber, and my mother. She was outside the nursery where I was sleeping. 

 

My mother died protecting me. 

 

There are things I remember. I remember my mom’s hands, they way they were scratchy and yet so soft and gentle. I remember sitting in her lap and her bouncing me up and down on her knee, and how she would laugh with her head thrown back. 

 

I remember hearing her yelling, and then silence so still I was scared to move. 

 

I was five years old. Five years old is too young to lose someone like that. If she’d told me she hung the moon, I’d believe her. Hell, I wouldn’t doubt if she actually did. 

 

Simon gently brushes my shoulder with his hand, then decides to rest it there. There’s a part of me that wants to grab it or shake it off. Instead, I do neither. I focus on the tea in my hands, which is slowly getting cold. Numbly, I take a sip.

 

I want to let it all out, like a flood. Just open up the doors and let everything rush out. 

 

But I don’t even know where to start. 

 

SIMON

 

“Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death,” Baz says quietly, almost so I can’t hear him. I want to say something, but he keeps going. “It’s—it’s weird, you know? I was five years old. I hardly even remember her, and yet I miss her so much it  _ hurts _ , deep in—deep in my chest?” He’s crying now. I surprise myself by shifting around so that he’s leaning against me now. He surprises me by not even trying to fight it. “I feel like I’m missing the fact that I don’t have her, but I don’t know that I actually miss her?”

 

“I know that one,” I mumble under my breath, not expecting him to hear.  He looks at me, eyes wide, before blinking and looking away.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters, and it actually sounds genuine. Like he’s embarrassed. 

 

“It’s alright, really. This isn’t about me—it’s about you and how you feel,” I respond gently. Penny used to tell me this whenever she got too heated over how my relationship with Agatha was ruining both of us and she needed to take a step back. It’s become helpful in many a situation, and it’s a good thing for me to keep in mind. (Penny says I’m either self-centered or self-destructive, that there’s no in between. She’s right, but I hate that she is.)

 

Baz’s eyes well with tears once he’s able to register what I’ve said. “Thank you,” he says, quietly. 

 

I don’t know how to respond, so I just move my hand from his shoulder and gently take his hand. And I’m not exactly watching his face (I’m not!) but I swear he blushes a little. 

 

“Are you alright?” I ask quietly, looking up at his eyes. They look so much greyer than usual. Like the color only shows when he’s happy.

 

“I will be,” he responds, and closes his eyes, leaning his head against the wall behind him.

 

After a while, he finishes off his tea and sighs, mumbles a “goodnight” in my direction, and lays down, drawing his hand away from mine. I take my cue and go back over to my bed.

 

I lay in my bed, awake long after Baz is asleep. (He doesn’t exactly snore, but his sinuses are messed up enough from the time that I broke his nose that he snuffles in his sleep. Like a puppy.) My heart hurts for him. I never had parents, so I can’t really relate to losing one, but  _ god,  _ he just looked so small. Like he thought he was prepared for the storm today would bring, but it turned off all of his lights out and left him stumbling in the dark. 

 

And then I think about his father. About how Baz usually went home for this long weekend, about how Baz probably would have been surrounded by family instead of me. But instead, his father had been a dick, and Baz was left alone. It makes me sick to think about.

 

As I finally drift off, I can’t help but to wonder if I would’ve ever had to deal with something like this. If I ever would have had family reject me like this. And the fact that I don’t know makes me start to cry, finally, although I don’t think that’s the entire reason I’m crying. No one should have to feel like this. 

 

Baz deserves so much more than this.

 

_ And all of the crying, you wouldn’t understand. You just let him cry; make a man out of him. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: @infintyonhighvevo


	8. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> penny realizes she realized something a bit too big to keep to herself. baz's crush gets worse. simon knows something's up but he doesn't know how to address it right.
> 
> you know, typical day with the watford crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics are from blue wind!

PENELOPE

 

_ Sure, when it’s autumn, wind always wants to creep up and haunt you, whistlin' it's got you. _

 

Walking into school, I can tell something has changed, besides the fact that I can taste the chaos of tech week looming over us like a malevolent poltergeist. I go through my classes normally, albeit with a little malaise, but when I finally get to rehearsal, I realize what feels so off. 

 

Baz is so much lighter than I’ve ever seen him. Not only that, he and Simon seem to… understand each other. Even the other boys have picked up on it. I watch them from the tech booth at the back of the theatre, and they all seem to be laughing at something Baz just said instead of running through the dances they’re supposed to practice before we start. They’re all standing together onstage, finally in costume for the first time. Gareth keeps fiddling with his belt, but other than that most of them seem to be pretty comfortable in their clothes, even though they are 1800s-esque school uniforms. Simon is actually wearing something that fits him, for once, rather than his amalgam of hand-me-down Watford uniform pieces. He looks comfortable in his own skin for the first time in a while. I wonder if that’s Baz’s doing. 

 

I notice every so often Simon and Baz will look at each other a beat apart, just missing when the other is looking up. It’s the syncopation of heartbeats, full of missed glances and staring at the floor. 

 

Agatha seems to notice this, too, although there’s a crease in between her perfect blonde eyebrows. I roll my eyes. She doesn’t have a claim over either of them, so I don’t know why she’s annoyed right now. 

 

They restart running through whatever dance they’re working on as Ms. Possibelf comes in. And they look good! (That’s not something I think often—the tech kids have the longest running commentary of insults and jabs at the actors you will ever find.) There’s a part in which Simon and Baz cross each other on stage, and not only do they not walk into each other, they manage to spin around each other, one facing the other. Simon finger-guns at Baz, who smirks, and then they continue singing the rest of the song.

 

That wasn’t supposed to happen like that. It doesn’t really fit the song all too well, but they both look so happy I’m able to withhold my snarky comment. They’re both so  _ light _ . 

 

And because the universe hates me, I choose this moment to remember about Simon’s mom. 

 

I have to tell him. I just don’t know that I can. How do you tell your best friend that the only one who wanted him basically died because of him?

 

But I can’t keep it in. If I keep something like this inside, rattling around my ribcage and pressing down on my lungs, how will I breathe?

 

SIMON

 

Baz and I don’t walk back to our room together, but we start to. It’s awkward, for a second, even though I just spent two hours laughing and joking with him. Even though I want to walk with him. He then mutters something about going to the library and trails off towards it. 

 

Penny catches me. “Hey, Si,” she says, and she pauses in a way where I’m not sure if she finished her thought or not. 

 

“Hey, Penny! How was your weekend?” I’m actively making an attempt to sound cheery, because Penny just seems so… blue.

 

“Hm? Oh, it was alright,” she responds, shaking her head slightly as if to clear it. “How was yours?”

 

I don’t know if she really wants to hear about it, but I tell her anyway. I tell her about how Baz and I are friends now, how I really don’t mind his sneers and deadpan humor, but that’s all I really say about Baz. I think about telling her about his mom, about how I wondered about my mom for the first time in ages, but the words are blown away by the wind as soon as I try to speak them. 

 

I don’t talk about how stunning Baz looks in his costume. About how illegal it should be for someone to look like that. I also don’t talk about how his puppy-snores are the only thing I can fall asleep next to anymore, about how his eyes remind me of the clouds, about how I want to tangle my hands in his hair. 

 

About how I think I’m falling for him. About how terrifying that is. 

 

Instead, I talk about something safer: how I’m proud of myself for getting over my discomfort while acting. (It is  _ not easy  _ to feel okay while acting out a scene in which you beat your ex-girlfriend, nor is it easy to then have stage-sex with her right afterwards.) (We replaced the latter with a dance, but still. I’m an awful dancer.)

 

I feel like I’m talking about nothing. Like my voice is blowing through thick fields of corn and creating a rattling echo off the plants, but I’m saying absolutely nothing. 

 

Eventually, Penny tells me she’s going to her room and fades down the path like a ghost, hardly even here. I wish I could help her, but I can feel she’s holding something back. 

 

I wish I knew what it was. 

 

PENELOPE

 

I spend the next week in a blue haze of lighting cues and moving set pieces. I can’t let myself think about Simon’s mom, so I don’t. 

 

I throw myself into stage managing. I check to make sure our props are working, except for the gun, which I check to make sure it’s  _ not  _ working. I fix the corner of the set that one of the girls accidentally pried loose so that no dresses or wheelchairs get caught. I readjust spotlights, I make sure everything is in its correct spot, and I don’t think about Simon’s parents. 

 

I barely notice any of my surroundings. I hardly notice how Agatha throws herself into acting only to avoid Simon like the plague. I don’t even have the energy to wonder about why Simon pulls Baz aside into the hallway at the end of rehearsal instead of walking back with me. (It’s better for me anyway—I don’t have to look at his sad puppy dog eyes.)

 

But at the end of the day, when I’m lying alone in my room (Trixie went to Keris’s room for courtesy’s sake), it crashes back on me like a wave. 

 

I have to tell him. But I just don’t know how to without hurting him. 

 

_ With its heartache, with its sorrow– winter wind sings, and it cries. _

 

BAZ

 

For the first time in a while, it’s silent.  No music thundering out from under the stage, no chatter of classmates, no buzz of lights searing down on me, no ring out of Keris or Ms. Possibelf’s voice telling us  _ run that again, this is tech week for God’s sake you have to make this good _ . Just the sound of feet on floor, but even that is muffled. 

 

All I can focus on is Simon Snow, pulling me aside into the empty school hallway by the hand. 

 

My heart is racing. Why is he doing this?

 

He looks at me, baby blues full of something I can’t place. What did I do to deserve this? This gorgeous boy, staring at me with  _ something  _ in his eyes I’ve never seen directed at me before. 

 

My heart beats out of time, an uneven rhythm so strong it shakes me to my core. What if he’s going to tell me he hates me? 

 

What if he’s not?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u want more of me my tumblr is infinityonhighvevo :)


	9. nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WOOP WOOP DETOUR TIME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics are from i believe!

GARETH

 

_ There is love in heaven; all will be forgiven. _

 

We’ve gotten through The Scene enough times that I shouldn’t feel like this. But every time I hear Rhys ask his lines, my heart pulls on my ribcage. 

 

I hear him tell me he loves me, so earnestly it hurts, thousands of times in rehearsals. We’ve been coached on our kissing enough, and we’ve been told we can opt out of kissing if we want. 

 

But we never do. 

 

The first time I kiss Rhys, it’s awkward. Sure, he’s my best friend, but I kind of climb into his lap to get to his face, and it makes him so uncomfortable that he’s bright red after the slightest peck. (That’s not that weird, though: Rhys is always blushy, no matter what.)

 

And it’s not like this is super weird for us, either. Sure, I’m straight (mostly), but Rhys is my best bro. I’m comfortable to do  _ anything  _ around him. (Well, not  _ everything. _ But if you share a room with your best bud for years, you see some shit and know some shit. That’s how it is.)

 

But something in me burns, golden and bright, every time I hear him say  _ I love you.  _

 

And I’m terrified. 

 

RHYS

 

If there were a play on my life right now, it would be called How To Get Over This Stupid Goddamn Crush That I Have On My Best Bro: A Tragedy In Eight Parts.

 

I’ve liked Gareth from the time I realized I was gay onwards, and let me tell you, him walking around our room naked does not help. 

 

Nor does having to kiss him several times onstage and tell him I love him. 

 

But it’s tech week, so after this weekend, I won’t have to worry about it again. I don’t know if I’m relieved that I can go back into repression, or upset that I don’t get to kiss Gareth. 

 

Speaking of which, it’s time for our scene. I hear Gareth speaking his lines, and he’s got his hand resting on the arm of my wheelchair. Said hand begins to creep its way towards mine as he continues acting. This is okay. This is practiced. I take it gently. 

 

He starts to sing, and I brace myself for when he’s going to lean down and kiss me. (I’m fairly lucky; he’s pretty short and I have a long torso, so it’s not too far for him to lean.)

 

Then Gareth’s lips are on mine, feather light and tentative. He’s so delicate with me, but I can’t do this anymore. I decide  _ fuck it, right, enough, that’s it _ and lean into him more, and suddenly there’s a frenzy of hands on faces and necks, of lips meeting lips, of shared breath, and it’s  _ awesome.  _

 

Then I remember that we need to finish our scene. 

 

Damnit. 

 

I pull back, and the stammer in my lines is no act. We finish singing, we finish acting, we finally get off stage. Together. My hand finds his as we move offstage, and it’s both incredible and extremely difficult to wheel myself off. 

 

He gives me a wide-eyed look, and because we have about five minutes until we have to be back onstage, he beckons for me to follow him down the ramp into the hall next to the dressing room. 

 

Simon and Baz are—they’re just standing there, facing each other, not saying anything. Baz has an eyebrow raised, and Simon’s just… staring at him. 

 

“Don’t you have a scene?” Gareth whisper-shouts to Simon. (The walls are super thin, we have to whisper even in the hallway to avoid people hearing us in the theatre. The dressing room is like a bunker, though.)

 

Simon starts, listens for a second, makes an apologetic face at Baz, and  _ bolts.  _ I’ve never seen him move so fast. Baz sighs and strides away after him. 

 

“What was  _ that?”  _ Gareth murmurs to me, frenzied. I can’t tell if he’s asking about Simon or us, so I assume the latter. 

 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve—” I start, but he’s kissing me again, briefly but deeply. He breaks the kiss after a short while, pressing his forehead to mine.

 

“I  _ meant  _ why haven’t we been doing that this whole time?” He sounds almost accusatory, and once his words sink in, I giggle. And then I’m laughing. And then he’s laughing. 

 

I want to keep talking, to keep kissing, to know every small detail about how he feels about me. But I hear the song ending, and I need to start moving now in order to get onstage. 

 

Gareth reaches for my hand again, but I stop him this time. “Bro, I gotta wheel myself. Later, alright?”

 

He nods, turning soft eyes on me. God, he’s too pretty, with his perfect eyelashes and dark eyes that look like the center of Earth. 

 

Our finale and bows fly by, moments I’ll never remember nor will I want to. We get notes (Gareth and I get one that says ‘good intensity!’ and we both break out into silent laughter) and then finally,  _ finally,  _ we can go. I grab my bag, swing it over the back of my wheelchair, and look to Gareth. He nods in the general direction of our dorm, and we head out together.  

 

For the first time in a while, I don’t know what to say around Gareth. I feel light and bubbly and blushy, and I’ve  _ never  _ felt like that around anyone, especially not my best friend. 

 

We get back to our room, and Gareth shuts the door with a soft click. He looks at me like I’m his entire world, and  _ shit,  _ man, I swear the entire sun beams through me. 

 

SIMON

 

I’m sitting in the grass behind our dorm, and I can’t get my mind off of Gareth and Rhys.

 

That wasn’t acting. That was  _ real.  _

 

I don’t know how I originally had intended to tell Baz I’m falling for him. (God, that sentence feels so weird to think about.) But after seeing Gareth and Rhys today, with messy hair and searing smiles, my chest aches for something like that. 

 

I’m happy for them, I really am, but  _ god,  _ I want that. 

 

I have to tell Baz how I feel, and soon, otherwise I lose my chance to have something like that. Maybe even forever. 

 

_ Peace and joy be with them— harmony and wisdom.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))))
> 
> tumblr: infinityonhighvevo


	10. ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> why hello there, characters realizing their feelings. nice to meet you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics are from touch me, word of your body, and the guilty ones

BAZ

 

_ Where I go, when I go there, no more shadows anymore.  _

 

It’s almost half past ten, and Simon still hasn’t come back to our room. I’m on edge. He’s never gone this late, ever. (Snow likes sleeping so much I’m not convinced he isn’t part cat.)

 

I notice he left the window open all day (bastard) and so I go to close it, when I look down and see him sitting against the edge of the building. Just sitting there, head towards the stars but eyes shut. 

 

“Snow,” I yell down to him, “get up here, it’s cold, and I’m not going to let you in after this.” 

 

Simon starts, eyes snapping open. He stands up and cranes his neck at me. After just standing and staring for what feels like an eternity, he walks in the door. I hear it click, and I brace myself as he walks up the stairs. He’s going to be in a full panic, most likely, so I start counting to keep myself calm. It’ll either calm him down too or aggravate him more. I can’t lose either way. 

 

I let my mind wander over all of the situations that could happen. Murder isn’t likely—I’ve never seen Simon hurt anyone unless it was self defense. (And yes, my nose counts as self defense in this case, if I’m being nice. Because punching someone after they shove you down the stairs is apparently justifiable.)

 

But besides yelling at me, I don’t know what Snow’ll do. I take a deep breath and keep counting. 

 

  1. 17\. What if Simon Snow doesn’t actually hate me? 19. 20. What if he still does? 22. 23.What if he’s just gotten back with Agatha? 25. What if he’s hurt again? Oh, God. 28. 29. 



 

Just as I reach 54, there’s a knock at our door. I open it, sighing, and Snow comes tumbling in. So we’re  _ already _ in panic mode. Guess I’ll just poke the beast, because at this point I don’t know what else to do. “Did you forget your key again because I swear to God I am not letting you in every time that—”

 

“Shut  _ up,” _ he grinds out. And then he’s kissing me. 

 

Simon Snow is kissing me. 

 

Goddamn, I’m living a charmed life. 

 

_ Love me, just for a bit.  _

 

SIMON

 

_ Oh, you’re gonna be wounded.  _

 

Baz tastes like cold and smoke and nothing like Agatha and I’ve never felt a stronger sense of  _ want _ while kissing someone. I run my hands through his hair, which is just as soft as I thought it would be. 

 

Oh, God, what if he didn’t want this?

 

I break off and step back quickly, fully preparing to run. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve—”

 

He sneers at me and grabs me by the back of the neck, kissing me even more desperately than before. 

 

Oh. Oh my God. 

 

I’m not sure how it happens, but suddenly I’m being lifted into the air and placed on my dresser, Baz’s hands are in my hair, and I’m 100% certain the reason we’ve stopped kissing is because I’m smiling like an idiot. His head is tilted up a bit, because I’m taller than him when sitting on this thing. (He’s actually taller than me, and it’s the most annoying thing ever.) Our foreheads are pressed together, and I can feel that he’s also breathing hard. 

 

I sit back and lean my head on the wall, shutting my eyes. I feel like I’m made of light, warm and  _ happy _ . 

 

But absolutely nothing makes sense. At all. It’s like the Earth’s axis was straightened out and now everything is slightly sideways. We need to talk about this, so I open my eyes and look at him. He’s currently holding my hand and rubbing small circles on the back of it, but he won’t look at me. 

 

“Baz,” I say softly, sliding off of the dresser and standing back on my feet. Which was  _ not _ very well thought out— I’m practically on top of him. He takes a step back to fix this and it’s the opposite of what I want.

 

“How long?” he asks, and I can’t read his tone. 

 

“What?”

 

“How long have you waited to do that?” He looks up finally, and his eyes are full of  _ something.  _ I’ve never seen him look like that, and it takes me a second to realize he’s unsure. 

 

“I- I didn’t realize how I felt until- like a week ago,” I trail off, suddenly embarrassed. I should’ve realized before. I should’ve  _ known _ before. 

 

“Simon, you  _ idiot, _ ” he whispers, and then he’s kissing me again like he needs it to survive. His hands are under my shirt, and I almost jump because they’re so cold. I slip my hands into his hair, which I think is my second favorite thing right now. (My favorite being  _ Baz. _ ) 

 

He’s all I can think about, all I can feel. Except now he’s letting me push him around. Somehow we end up on his bed, and my hands are on his chest, and he’s somehow under me. He runs a thumb down my jawline and  _ god,  _ that’s hot. 

 

Suddenly, Baz pushes me off of his lap so that I’m next to him, and even though I kind of miss his lips on mine, we both need to breathe eventually. (Although, I don’t think that’s why he pushed me off his lap so fast. Just saying.)

 

It’s silent for a bit, save for the sounds of us both catching our breath. Until he starts kissing my neck. 

 

Holy shit. 

 

He’s biting at me, and it feels so  _ good  _ that I don’t even mind that he’s going to leave a mark that I won’t be able to hide come morning. 

 

I’d pick getting bruised like this over a fight any day. I like this  _ so  _ much better than fighting. 

 

_ Oh, you’re gonna be my wound.  _

 

BAZ

 

_ And who can say what dreams are? _

 

Simon’s eyes are closed, but his hand is playing with the hem of my shirt. Then he sighs and sits up, so that I can’t keep pressing soft kisses to his neck and jaw and so that he has to drop my shirt.

 

Asshole. 

 

“We should- we should talk about this,” he says softly. 

 

“What is there to talk about, Snow? There is no  _ this,”  _ I snip back. 

 

“You called me Simon before,” he says, small and almost hurt. There’s a beat. And then, even quieter, “Maybe I want there to be a  _ this _ .”

 

I have been speaking since a very young age. I know several languages, and I’m fairly eloquent in all of them. And of course, that’s a skill I maintain all the time. Except, of course, right now. I sputter and stumble over whatever I was trying to say as my brain comes to a full halt. 

 

Finally, I manage, “What is  _ this _ , then, Snow?” without my voice shaking too badly. 

 

He takes a deep breath. “I- I don’t want us to just forget this happened. And I know I’m not the greatest at- at  _ talking  _ or  _ communicating _ or being a good boyfriend but- but. I want that with you. I want to be your terrible boyfriend.” By the end, he’s mumbling so bad I almost don’t hear what he’s saying. 

 

I feel like I’m in a dream. If you had told me three years ago that Simon fucking Snow would tell me he wants to date me, I would’ve punched you. 

 

He takes my stunned silence as rejection, and all of a sudden he’s stammering out, “Or we could- we could forget this ever happened and- and we could go back to normal! I’ll just- just… fuck.” He swipes furiously at his eyes and turns his head away from me. 

 

I can’t let him break like this in front of me. Not anymore. 

 

And so I surprise myself. 

 

SIMON

 

Baz holds me in his arms, and  _ fuck _ , I’m so gone. 

 

I collapse into him, and I just let him wrap me in a hug. 

 

BAZ

 

He’s shaking against me, and it’s such a different Simon from five minutes ago that I’m not sure what is real. 

 

I press my forehead to his. “Snow— Simon.” And he’s angling his face up ever so slightly. And his lips are so close. And  _ he’s  _ so close. So I kiss him, softly.

 

He kisses me back, slower this time. Instead of flames, now he kisses like the rain. Soft and sweet and peaceful. 

 

And really, we’re both too exhausted to talk more, but I think he hears me whisper a faint “mine” into his lips. I hope he does

 

We fall asleep curled into each other in my bed. He falls asleep right away, so I tell him everything. I tell him that I’ve been in love with him for years, that I couldn’t imagine myself as anything other than  _ his _ , that I thought my love for him was going to kill me. 

 

I fall asleep a thousand pounds lighter, with a space heater of a boy wrapped around me. 

 

SIMON

 

I don’t fall asleep until well after midnight. I know he doesn’t think I do, but I hear Baz tell me he loves me. I hear him confess in a way I’ve never heard him speak, soft and sweet and melancholy and full of love. 

 

And I just never knew. 

 

Looking back, I should’ve known I was in love with him. I used to wonder about how his hair would feel between my fingers. I have the colors of his eyes practically memorized. For God’s sake, Penny has a quota on how much I talk about him. (I should tell her about this as soon as I can.) (Although I don’t know that she’ll listen. She’s been very distant recently, and I can’t tell if it’s just tech week or something else.)

 

I hear Baz say all of these things, though, and I  _ know  _ it’s because he thinks I’m asleep. His voice was so quiet and almost sweet—he definitely was talking to himself. (Well, he definitely  _ wasn’t,  _ but he thought so.)

 

I don’t know if I can tell him I heard him, and I wait long enough to think about it that I feel him sleep-snuffling before I decide what to say. I wrap myself around him and try to fall asleep. He’s so cool, and our room is so hot, and I feel balanced for the first time in a while. 

 

But I still don’t know if he’ll be brave enough to tell me the things he thought he told no one. 

 

_ And who can say what we are? _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D yay we got them boys!
> 
> tumblr: infinityonhighvevo


	11. eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they have to put a show on at some point, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy this chapter is the longest yet. HUGE shoutout to cj for betaing and generally being the nicest person ever
> 
> but yeah happy pride month have 5k+ of Drama™
> 
> lyrics from those you’ve known, warnings for domestic abuse in a play and rape mentions also in a play. neither are real nor written out that far.

PENELOPE

 

_ Those you’ve known and lost still walk behind you.  _

 

I haven’t left the tech booth in about six hours, and I’m starting to go insane. I can’t keep this from Simon anymore, because I  _ will  _ end up saying it at some point. (Also, we have a no-secrets pact still in place from when we were twelve.) 

And I need to tell him sooner rather than later, because I don’t want to keep this from him for any longer. There’s just one, minuscule problem with that. 

 

It’s tech week. Or rather, we have a show to put on tomorrow. 

 

One day more. 

 

Simon has been tapping pencils aggressively in classes to either the rhythm of show songs and even to the cadences of some of his lines he’s perfected. (He’s got a few moments that he  _ has  _ to do the same because of how perfect they turned out the one time. I think it’s ridiculous, but what can you do when your best friend is an absolute nerd?) (Apparently, keeping secrets is  _ not _

something you can do in one of those situations.)

 

He’s so wrapped up in finishing this goddamn show that his feet don’t even touch the ground most days. He’s even forgotten to hate Baz, although in the past tech week has made them fight more. (I’ll have to file that away to unpack for a different time.)

 

But goddamnit, I can’t get the little mantra of  _ Simon’s mom is dead and his dad might be the Mage and I’m the only one who knows Simon’s mom is dead and his dad might be the Mage and I’m the only one who knows  _ out of my head. 

 

I just don’t know how to tell him. Still. 

 

But, because I can’t let myself rot from the inside out, I snag him before our last class. 

 

“Hey, can we talk in the library after this?” I say. Perfectly innocuous, right?  

 

Except not. Simon knows me too well. He answers with a wary and slightly worried “okay.” 

 

Crap. So much for calm and collected. 

 

I stress through all of History. (Which is a bad idea—we have a big exam coming up and I need to pay attention instead of worrying about Simon.) The bell rings, and I pack all of my things in a hurry. We have time before rehearsal—actors are given time before dress rehearsal to do makeup, and I can go down ten minutes later than usual and no one will bat an eye. 

 

I sit down in one of the study rooms (so that we can’t get yelled at for being too loud) and text Simon my location. 

 

Then, I plan out how I’m actually going to tell him. 

 

SIMON

 

I have no idea what Penny’s going to tell me, but I hope it explains how _ weird  _ she’s been acting this week. She gets like this whenever she’s discovered something, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this jumpy and spacey. I guess I’m figuring it out now, though, so no need to worry anymore.

 

As I open the library doors, I see her purple curls disappear into a study room at the end of the hall. I follow her in, setting my bag down on the table and shutting the door softly. She’s clicking away on her computer, not even acknowledging that I’m in the room. 

 

“So, what do you have to tell me?” I ask. She looks up, takes a deep breath, and slides a somewhat old photo across the table at me. 

 

“My mother dropped this photo while she was walking around our house with all of her work stuff. It’s a photo of her when she went here,” Penny says quietly. “The woman in the middle is Lucy Salisbury.”

 

I don’t get it. 

 

I must be pulling a face, because Penny looks at me and sighs. “I did some extra research on her, because she looked… familiar to me.” She breaks off, and I can see her choosing her next words carefully. 

 

Finally, she turns the screen to me. It’s an obituary from the year I was born, for this Lucy woman Penelope’s telling me about. I don’t really read much past  _ died in childbirth  _ and  _ survived by her infant son _ , and even then I'm not paying attention to what I’m reading. 

 

Wait. 

 

I reread the last line.  _ Survived by her infant son, Simon Salisbury. _

 

I look at Penny, wide-eyed. “You don’t think-”

 

There’s a beat of silence. “I did some more research. There were some files from an orphanage that confirm that Simon Salisbury was taken out of their home within three months of when you were brought to Watford,” Penelope finally says. “There wasn’t much else after that.”

 

I realize then that I’ve been standing this whole time. The floor is so far away. I feel my knees shake, and I crash down into a chair. And I say nothing. 

 

What is there to say?

 

“We have to go down to rehearsal now,” Penny says gently. “Will you be okay?”

 

I nod. I’ll have to be. 

 

It’s just a lot right now. 

 

BAZ

 

Snow and Bunce are late to rehearsal. And by late, I mean Gareth managed to show up before they did. Granted, they still have about five minutes before they actually have to be here, but it’s final dress rehearsal. They should be here.

 

I’m sitting on the edge of the stage, talking with Niall and Dev about absolutely nothing, when finally, Simon opens the door. Bunce looks at him, and after he nods, she barrels towards the booth. It’s scary how fast she can change tracks. 

 

Snow, however, looks like a disaster. He races towards the dressing rooms in the back to change, but there’s something… wrong about the way he’s moving. I need to help him, so I get up and walk backstage, pointedly ignoring the look Trixie’s giving me. That girl knows too much for her own good.

 

I open the door to the dressing room and walk back into the guys’ changing room. Our dressing room is a very weird space—there’s one big room in the middle with a big mirror and a wall for whatever clothes we need for that show, and then two smaller changing rooms, one for girls and one for guys, although the wall between the two is broken at one point and very thin at all the others. (Keris likes to joke that she has a secret passage between both changing rooms from before she transitioned, but really the wall just has a hole in it from a clothes rack that fell. Also because we don’t have the funding to fix it.)

 

Simon’s the only guy back here, and he’s struggling with the ridiculous socks they gave us. He’s so frantic that he isn’t sitting down to put them on, and it’s the least effective way to put socks on I have ever seen. Plus, his tie is very messily tied, so it’s hanging in his way, making it even harder to fix. 

 

“Hey,” I say, which he ignores, so I repeat myself, more forcefully. 

 

He looks up, and his hands are still moving. They won’t stop  _ moving _ , like if he stays still for one second the universe will explode. 

 

I grab his hands. “Breathe,” I tell him. He takes a breath in, and a breath out. And another, and another. Finally, he seems like he’s less likely to go off if touched. 

 

I re-tie his tie and straighten it out for him. He’s holding on to my bicep, and he’s still shaking enough that I feel it through my whole arm. 

 

“We’ll talk about it later, alright? Right now, just focus on this rehearsal. Last rehearsal, you ready?” I don’t know where this calm and collected me is coming from, but it’s helping Simon calm down, so I don’t mind. He kisses me on the cheek, ever so slightly, and whispers a thank you, before he runs to get his microphone put on. 

 

I didn’t blush. 

 

SIMON

 

It’s always hard to tell on Baz, but he was 100% blushing when I kissed him. I didn’t really have the words to tell him what I wanted to say, but a kiss worked perfectly fine. I should use that in the future. 

 

Rehearsal goes off without any major hitches (Keris, who’s also playing Thea on top of teaching all of us how to dance, misses one of her cues, but other than that, no problems) and soon enough I’m taking off my godforsaken nineteenth century modeled uniform and wool socks. 

 

Baz and I walk back together. Penny walks with us for the first half, but once she gets to her dorm she hugs me for a minute and then goes inside. It’s finally starting to warm up, so I can’t really complain about being outside for the annoyingly long walk back to the dorm anymore, but I can definitely still think about it. And I’m definitely thinking about it now, with Baz practically silent next to me, and how I wish the silence wasn’t so awkward. 

 

We get into our room, finally, and he starts, “You don’t have to tell me anything, but… if you want to talk about whatever was bothering you earlier, I’m here.”

 

It sounds so un-Baz-like and yet so sincere that I start talking. And I don’t stop for a while. I tell him about my mom, and about how my dad just didn’t want me, and how my grandmother is probably still alive but doesn’t know I am, and I talk about how  _ weird _ it feels to know about what happened to her, and how I kind of feel almost guilty because she died because I was born. 

By the time I finish talking, Baz and I are both sitting on my bed, and he’s got my hand in his. His thumb is running circles on the back of my hand, and it feels so nice to be loved by someone right now that I lean into him and his lips are  _ right there  _ and suddenly we’re kissing again and he’s got one hand up my shirt and I’ve got my hands on the sides of his face on his smooth skin and I feel  _ light.  _

 

“Thank you,” I breathe, once we break apart. I’ve somewhat ended up in his lap, and so I just let him hold me for a bit. But I still have one more thing to say.

 

“Baz? I- um, I’m- I’m really bad at this. I’m kind of a terrible boyfriend, but…” I break off and sigh. I really  _ am  _ horrible at this. “But I want that, if you do. To be your terrible boyfriend. I don’t want this to just be hooking up and never actually being together.” 

 

BAZ

 

I’m in shock. Okay, that’s a little dramatic, he  _ has  _ hooked up with me twice in the past few days, but I still never expected this to happen. Ever. 

 

I look at him and realize he’s still waiting for my response. 

 

“You  _ moron _ ,” I breathe, “this was never going to be  _ just _ anything.”

 

He smiles then, full and bright and beautiful. My heart swells with it. And then he yawns, and I realize how late it is. But I don’t want to get up. So I get under the covers of Simon’s bed, and try and fall asleep. He protests enough to get me to move over, but not enough for me to give up an entire night of cuddling with him. I’m able to fall asleep very quickly, with Snow’s arms wrapped around me. 

 

Unfortunately, the reverse is also true. It takes absolutely no time after Simon’s 6:00am alarm goes off for him to wake me up semi-violently and whisper-shout “It’s opening night!” in my face. 

 

“We still have classes first, Snow,” I grumble back, pulling a pillow over my face. 

 

Simon Snow on show days is one of the most chaotic things I have ever seen. He practically spends the entire day vibrating and not paying attention in class, which is both somewhat endearing and extremely frustrating. 

 

He drags the pillow off of my face, and I sigh, stand up, and go into the bathroom to get ready for the day. 

 

PENELOPE

 

Simon and Baz walk into breakfast together, and not only are both of them in one piece, they actually seem to be… having a conversation like normal people. And they both seem to be happy about it. 

 

Interesting. 

 

Baz actually sits with us today, and he and I have a wonderful conversation about which Shakespeare tragedy is actually best. (He says  _ Julius Caesar,  _ although I’m still a fan of  _ Titus Andronicus _ .) Simon makes awkward small talk with Agatha, mostly about how excited each of them is for the show tonight, although they both seem to be watching Baz. 

 

Very interesting. 

 

I was worried that Simon would be too torn up about his mom to be focused on today, but he seems so  _ excited _ . It’s been a while since he’s been this excited about something, and it’s nice to see it back on his face. 

 

Throughout the day, Simon’s  _ full  _ of energy, both nervous and excited. He can’t focus on  _ anything _ , and at some points I can’t either, like when he won’t stop tapping his pencil during our statistics quiz. Mostly, though, his nervous tics are endearing. 

 

Finally, we get to the end of the day. All of the theatre kids usually get food in either the sandwich shop or the pizza place that are within walking distance of school so that we can be on time for call, but Simon and I have a tradition of driving to the IHOP a few miles away. It’s  _ wonderful _ for avoiding our cast and roasting them together one last time. 

 

As we’re leaving, though, he asks, “Hey, Pen, can Baz come with us?” 

 

Very,  _ very _ interesting, considering that Simon usually spends this time roasting Baz himself. 

 

I shrug. “If you don’t mind, I don’t either.”

 

So that’s how I end up with Baz Pitch in my backseat telling Simon he has horrible taste in music. Which in turn makes Simon put on One Day More from  _ Les Mis  _ at full volume, and soon instead of arguing, the three of us are singing along at full volume, too. (Baz makes a wonderful Javert, and a  _ hilarious _ Cosette.)

 

We sit and we eat our pancakes somewhat quickly, but Baz still manages to take some of his whipped cream and smear it all over Simon’s face. Simon responds by doing the same, and soon I have to quickly make them to stop before we get kicked out by a crotchety old waiter who’s been watching us since we got here. 

 

I give Simon a questioning look, and he in return gives me a blushy smile. 

 

Ah. 

 

Once we get back to school, Simon gives me a hug and whispers, “Good luck,” into my hair. I punch him in the arm, somewhat lightly, and tell him the same. 

 

Then we part ways, and I hear Baz ask, “What the  _ hell  _ was that?”

 

Simon laughs, “Tradition.”

 

I snort as I walk into the booth. Morons. 

 

TRIXIE

 

Backstage is  _ chaos _ . My makeup’s been done for about twenty minutes, but people are still arriving, the guys are acting like dipshits, and the girls are all clamoring over who gets the hairspray next. 

 

Ah, show night. Never changes. 

 

“Trix, your flowers are falling out,” Keris says to me, fixing one of the fake flowers Ms. Possibelf suggested I put in my hair. She’s nervous.

 

“Keris, baby, they’re fine. Wanna come get mic'd with me?” I ask. She reads my face and sees that’s not really what I’m asking, so she nods. 

 

We do actually get our microphones put on (and checked), but then I pull her into the stairwell, almost hitting Baz with the door as I do. I smirk at him, and he shakes his head disbelievingly. I laugh, and pat him on the shoulder. Good for him for getting his boy. (I mean, Simon when he saw Baz today?  _ Priceless. _ The most blatant checking out of someone’s ass I’ve ever seen.)

 

The door clicks shut behind us, and I turn to Keris, wrapping her in a hug. “You’re going to kill it tonight, honey, okay? Don’t even think about the audience.”

 

She sighs. “I know, I know. I’m still nervous, though.”

 

“Take it one scene at a time, one step at a time, one note at a time. You can do this, baby,” I say gently, pressing a little kiss to her cheek. She closes her eyes. 

 

There are a lot of things I love about Keris. Her strength, her deep care for everyone, her bounciness despite all the shit that’s happened to her. But her determination to keep going is one of my favorite things about her. 

 

She snaps open her eyes. “Let’s do this.”

 

PENELOPE

 

Christ, actors suck. Not only do they keep hitting the lights on side stage, some of the prop flowers for the funeral scene have gone missing. Who steals fake flowers? Thankfully, the (100% fake but 100% real looking) gun is still in its case. 

 

My watch beeps. It’s time, prop flowers be damned. I turn my headset on. 

 

“Places.”

 

AGATHA

 

The violin leans and sighs. My cue. My hands are shaking, but that’s never stopped me before. 

 

I close my eyes for a split second and sink into Wendla Bergman, leaving Agatha Wellbelove behind. 

 

I sing with my soul, and three minutes feels like an eternity. Then Philippa comes onstage, and time lurches back to full speed with her first lines. 

 

God, I love acting. 

 

All of the girls are now out onstage for our first number, and it’s  _ electric.  _ Even the two freshman, Minty and Ava, who thought they were above this in the beginning are now into it and having a good time. 

 

I hear the boys begin to move onstage, and my feet move instinctively towards where I need to be—dead center. The song ends, and I can feel my chest heaving to the rhythm of people’s clapping. The girls file offstage, and I race to change into my dress. 

 

I hear the boys begin their scene through the wall, and I can hear Baz above them all, sounding perfectly in character and also somewhat still like himself. I don’t know how he does it. 

 

RHYS

 

This song is my least favorite. Partially because I’m shit at Latin pronunciation (I take Chinese, it’s not like I have much help from that), but mostly because the choreography is a march and I have to be  _ very specific _ about where and how far my wheelchair goes. 

 

Litora. Move up. Multum. Turn ninety degrees. Ille. Head up. Et terris. Start moving. Iactatus. Et alto. Stop. 

 

It’s a lot to remember, so by the time we finish the song, I’m breathing hard despite not having sang anything difficult. Simon looks like he’s trying to catch his breath hard, and I get it. It’s not a hard song to sing, per se, but the dude puts so much of his soul into every note that it’s perfectly understandable that he’s out of breath. 

 

And we get back into the scene, which I don’t say anything in, and then it’s our next song. 

 

GARETH

 

I love this song so much. It’s not every day you can jump around a stage and yell the word “bitch”. 

 

And besides, Baz is honestly so goddamn perfect for his role that it makes this all the more worth it. 

 

I sing my solo, and I  _ nail  _ it. While I’m singing, I stare out at the crowd finally. They all seem to be… shocked, and like they’re having a good time despite that. 

 

Perfect. 

 

KERIS

 

The boys’ song ends, and now we have to go onstage. 

 

Oh, God.

 

I’m so nervous, my knees are shaking—why did I  _ ever  _ let Trixie drag me into auditioning for this?

 

We get out there, and it’s time for my line. My line to start the scene. Which one is it? Fuck. 

 

I remember it, right before it gets awkward. “—a- and the bodice in lace, with a satin bow in the back!”

 

That came out super cheery, and definitely not because I was acting it. 

 

But the scene moves on, and then it’s time for the song. The song in which I have a solo. 

 

I sing my line, albeit a bit shakily, and then we’re  _ dancing  _ and I just let myself live. Soon it’s like breathing, being up on stage. We move to the side for the boys’ part, and I have to make a very conscious effort to avoid looking at Gareth while he has his… moment. (We did tone it down a bit, but it’s still implied that his character is jacking off which is uncomfortable for all parties involved. It’s like a car crash—horrible and yet it’s hard to look away.) In the moment where we’re not moving, my heart races. What if I messed up?

 

And then the music picks back up, and we’re going back through the dance again, and I can  _ breathe _ again. The song finishes and I almost don’t notice, that’s how wrapped up in just  _ being _ I am. 

 

I walk off stage at the end of the song and run right to Trixie in the small section of time we have between songs. I crush her in a hug. “Thank you,” I whisper into her hair.

 

And then we have to turn right back around for the next song. But first, the funniest scene in the entire show. 

 

PHILIPPA

 

Dear  _ God _ , I don’t know if I can keep a straight face during this scene. The general premise is that I’ve just walked in on my son and his best friend talking about an essay entirely about sex. It’s awkward, it’s funny, whatever. 

 

Except Baz Pitch is involved. 

 

He does something different every night. He’s done everything from throw the essay at the wall to shove it down his shirt to “hide it” from me. 

 

Tonight? He shoves a page of it in his mouth. Crumpled a sheet up and just pops it in. Granted, it’s a bad plan because he has to talk, but I honest to God have to take a second so I don’t laugh through my lines. When he has to talk, he fake-coughs into his sleeve and pulls the page out of his mouth and then sits on it, taking the whole essay off the table and shoving  _ that _ under his ass, too. 

 

I swear the entire audience is crying laughing, and I can’t even blame them, I’m so close to bursting out laughing. 

 

Instead I stammer out my last line (like I was supposed to) and hurry offstage. Once I get into safe range, I explode laughing—I’m laughing so hard I have to sit down. I calm down, look up at Trixie, who’s not rushing around like the rest of the cast (she’s only really in Act Two, but she’s in the next song, so she’s been prepared for it the whole time) and we both start laughing again. Finally, the song starts, and everyone backstage leaves. It’s just me and Marcus, who plays the adult men, and he doesn’t look up from his phone this whole time. Didn’t expect much else, to be honest. 

 

I sigh, wipe at my eyes, and go change into my next costume.

 

DEV

 

This song is pretty and all, but it’s boring. Sure, I have a pretty big solo in it, and sure, the dancing for it is actually kind of nice, and sure, the entire song is about sex, but it’s kind of boring now after we’ve rehearsed it for so long. 

 

But it makes Keris so happy, seeing all of us dance to her choreography, that I don’t even mind too much. 

 

I’ve known Keris for longer than I’ve known Niall and Baz, which is saying something. (Even my mom likes to joke that the three of us came out of the womb plotting together.) She’s always been a good friend to me, and I’ve always tried to be a good friend for her, especially through her transition. There’s not much she can do at this point to transition, but I’ve fought as many bullies as I can and I’ll keep doing it until she tells me to stop. She’s practically my sister—there’s no one else I’d rather fight for. 

 

So if dancing makes her happy, I’ll dance. 

 

The song ends, and I sit with her in the wings to watch Simon and Agatha dance through their first solo number. 

 

It’s actually- well, it actually looks pretty good, even though I hate to admit that Simon fucking Snow, annoyance extraordinaire, could be pretty good at something like this. Keris is bouncing in her seat, so I can tell things are going as she planned, which is nice. 

 

But  _ man _ , Agatha is gorgeous. She moves so easily, as if the air were water and she were a fish. (It also helps that I’ve had a crush on her for years, although she seemed to be more into Baz than me.)

 

Their dance ends, and we head on for our next scene, which is really just all of the guys mocking Baz except for Simon and kind of Rhys. I don’t like Gareth that much, but it’s been somewhat fun sharing a little time fake “oh look at his idiot” moment. Even if it’s fake, there’s nothing that brings people together like talking shit.

 

It’s a short scene, like most of the guys scenes, and so we’re off almost as soon as we were on. Philippa and Marcus do their bit, the girls do their scene, and then it’s time for the darkest territory of the show. 

 

Minty and Trixie’s song. 

 

MINTY

 

You know, people say I’m dumb. And they might be right, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to handle myself. Besides, it’s not like I have time to pretend I’m smart. 

 

And sure, maybe it did take me a little while to realize that my solo song is about sexual abuse. But it’s not like it’s something I don’t understand at all. I know more than people think. 

 

Yes, I know, I’m a freshman and it’s excusable or whatever for me to be clueless but honestly, I just want to sing my song and be done. I hate the pitying faces the audience has because I see them every day for less severe reasons. 

 

_ This is serious! This happens!  _ I want to scream at them.  _ Don’t use the same faces you use to tell me I’m stupid when I tell you that I’m being abused, no matter how fake it is! _

 

It’s frustrating, but I can’t do anything about it, so I just sing. I fuel all of that annoyance and anger into my voice, and once Trixie joins in, we project waves and waves of anger and fear and discomfort at the people in front of us. 

 

Trixie’s actually wonderful to talk to. I told her all of my frustrations with this song, and she listened and didn’t give me any crap. She didn’t treat me like I’m stupid either, which was nice. 

 

The song ends, and while I still feel like I’m stewing, I’m able to let go of the tension in my shoulders. I calm myself down. 

 

I breathe. 

 

Just like that, it’s over, and we’re offstage. Trixie gives me a hug, just like she always does after our song. 

 

It’s nice. 

 

PENELOPE

 

I hate this next scene so much. 

 

First of all, it doesn’t make much sense in the plot. Second of all, it requires so much out of both actors involved. Third, all fight choreography can go wrong. Fourth, no one wants to think about high schoolers beating each other. It’s just problematic. 

 

It’s also perfectly reasonable for me to be uncomfortable with watching my best friend fake-beat my other best friend. 

 

Just putting that out there. 

 

I know that both Simon and Agatha are prepared physically and emotionally, but I can’t watch, so I cover my eyes from in the booth. 

 

I hear Agatha scream and I remind myself it’s not real, that she’s just acting.

 

I don’t open my eyes until I hear Philippa and Marcus start their little bit, not even for Dev and Niall’s small singing part. 

 

Finally, it’s time for Baz’s first solo song, and I watch him inject so much malice and anger and personality and disappointment into his song that I can wipe my mind of the awful beating scene that just took place. Even if it was fake, I hate it so much. 

 

Baz’s song fades into Simon’s next solo song, as well as his first big solo dance. He and I were talking, and he said he was most nervous for the dancing here, even though he’s looked fine in rehearsals.

 

He gets through his dance pretty well, although he does trip a little at one point. No one but me and maybe Keris will notice, though; he recovers from it really well. 

 

I call the cues I need to call for the lighting change, and the song ends. The boys, who were singing backup for Simon, fade into their spots for the final song of Act One. 

 

The one where Simon and Agatha have sex. 

 

Okay, they don’t actually have sex on stage, nor do they do anything past kissing. Keris choreographed them a beautiful dance that gets the point across without crossing any… more boundaries than we’ve already crossed. 

 

In all honestly, I really love this song. It’s just so beautiful, the way the ensemble works their vocals through Simon and Agatha’s lines, like their words are embroidering a tapestry. 

 

The song ends, Simon and Agatha are kissing, and there’s supposed to be an immediate blackout. 

 

There isn’t. 

 

I have to call for the cue three times before someone finally turns them off. You’ve got to love a responsive tech crew. (Simon and Agatha must feel so weird, having to stand there, kissing, for that long.)

 

But we get a break, finally, so of course I rush backstage to find any way in which I can help. 

 

Ava needs her mic re-taped, the damned prop flowers are still missing and Trixie’s suggestion to take some out of her hair even though they’re all too small for the scene, and Marcus is having issues with his next costume piece. 

 

In short, it’s chaos. 

 

Since I’m spending most of my time in the booth, the only thing I really have to do is the gun check with Baz. The other stage crew people can take care of this. 

 

I pull Baz aside. “Ready for the gun check?”

 

He nods. 

 

Really, a gun check is just going over three things: this gun is not loaded, this gun can’t ever discharge, and do not point the gun at the audience in any circumstance.

 

My watch beeps. Shit. Three minutes till places. 

 

Baz and I finish our check, and I rush up to the booth. 

 

“Places Act Two,” I call over the headsets to the other tech kids. There’s some shuffling backstage, and then one of them confirms that everyone is in place. 

 

The lights go out, everyone moves on stage, and I take a breath. 

 

The music starts. 

 

AVA

 

I can’t stop myself from looking over st Simon and Agatha dancing on the other side of the stage. I know that’s super not allowed, but no one will notice, right? 

 

They’re just so  _ cool _ . Like “I wish I could dance like that” cool. 

 

And both of them are genuinely cool people too. Agatha’s a little holier-than-thou sometimes, but Simon’s just a good guy. 

 

And he’s cute.

 

Baz screams, “ _ Enough! _ ” just like he’s supposed to, except I react a split second later then I should, so I’m last offstage. 

 

Whoops. 

 

TRIXIE

 

The guitar and bass slam into their notes with all of the anger they can and it’s  _ magical.  _ Baz is pouring every ounce of being into his lines, and I’m waiting in the wings for my cue. 

 

Finally the music slows down, and I waltz on just like I’m supposed to. 

 

There’s a little irony in this, two very gay kids pretending to be into each other. Okay, there’s a lot of irony. 

 

But we do it anyway. For the sake of theatre. 

 

I sing my solo, and I let myself sink into every note. Every metaphor, every line. I shut my eyes, losing myself to the music. 

 

The music shifts, and my eyes open. 

 

Baz is watching me, and I can tell that he’s acting (he’s got an acting face), but part of him seems genuinely… appreciative. It’s weird. But whatever, if Baz Pitch thinks I’m a good singer, I’ll take the compliment. 

 

We go through the end of our scene, and I angrily leave stage as I’m supposed to, then turn around as soon as I’m backstage to watch Baz’s monologue. 

 

I don’t want to miss this. 

 

BAZ

 

Breathe. In and out. 

 

Say the lines. Don’t think about yourself. 

 

Breathe. 

 

Think about Simon. Separate yourself from your character. 

 

You’ve done it before. 

 

Think about Simon. Say the lines.

 

Lights to blackout. You’re done. 

 

PHILIPPA

 

Baz almost knocks into me as he rushes offstage, and I don’t blame him. But he’s still a prick, so it’s annoying. 

 

Everyone moves onstage for the funeral scene and song. I look to Marcus, because we’re supposed to walk on together. He gives me a bored look, and we walk on. 

 

Okay. Time to cry.

 

I don’t know when I gained the ability to cry on command, but it’s been pretty helpful for this one scene. Besides, it’s fun sometimes to be all  _ ha I’m crying pity me _ . (Only when it’s fake, though. Having other people watch you cry for real is not fun.)

 

But anyway, I turn to the audience on my cue, and I see a few audience members crying, too. 

 

Sweet. 

 

Simon is acting really well tonight. Not sure if it’s just this scene, but he seems...very in character. He looks close to tears, too, which is surprising. Simon is a wonderful actor, but not the type who can cry on command. 

 

It’s jarring, to see someone else who’s in this with you. To see someone living parallel to you, feeling just as you do. 

 

Marcus stirs me out of it by nudging me backstage, for our spots for the next song. (I  _ swear _ , how did he get a role?  _ So  _ unprofessional.)

 

Once we’ve got offstage, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and stop crying almost as quickly as I started. Marcus looks at me, shocked, like I shouldn’t be able to do that. And then it’s our cue, so we both practically run back onstage in our other costumes. (We have to change clothes for every character. It’s annoying, but no one would get it otherwise.)

 

Okay. Anger time. 

 

NIALL

 

I sigh and breathe out any fake-grief that’s lingering and move to my spot for the next song, otherwise known as the best song in the show.

 

Simon Snow gets yelled at, the guitar part is sick, and we get to shout  _ fuck _ at the audience and be derisive about it. The three best things in the world. 

 

Oh, I also have a solo. Which reminds me, I should probably get ready to sing that. 

 

The amount of energy on this stage is palpable—I can practically  _ taste _ how amped up everyone is.  

 

I whip out my mic for my solo, then look to Dev and Gareth for our part together. I can’t help but smile at them, even though that’s not really a habit of mine. (Smiling, I mean. It just hurts my face after a while, and I don’t see the point of showing happiness with face pain.) 

 

But, whatever, I’m having a good time. 

 

As I’m dancing, I catch a glimpse of the audience. There’s a collection of my parents’ friends who look downright offended, but in front of them are two sophomores who I recognize from the soccer team who look like they’re having a blast. Lit.

 

We get to the spot where we’re all frozen facing Snow, who’s center stage on top of a chair. The song is about to kick up again, but for this split second of silence, I suck a deep breath in.

 

Simon jumps off the chair screaming, “ _ YES!”  _ and it’s chaos all around me. We’ve all got separate dances that we do here; I’m pretty sure some people are doing kicks that Keris showed us how to do months ago and other people are just doing, like, repetitive jazz hands (because they’re morons.)

 

And then the song ends and my middle finger is up (carefully not aimed at my parents) and the we have to get offstage. 

 

I look over my shoulder as I’m walking offstage because I forget what’s next. Rhys and Gareth are onstage alone. 

 

Oh, right. The gay scene.  _ So _ glad it’s not me out there. 

 

Like, okay, I don’t really care that much about gay dudes. I do theater, though, and there’s a stereotype that we’re all gay. We’re not. (I’m pretty sure all the guys here are straight, and then it’s just Trixie and Keris.)

 

But anyway, I’m not gay. And I’d be super uncomfortable kissing another guy, I mean, it’s just  _ weird _ for me mc you, know?

 

Anyway. I don’t usually watch this scene. 

 

GARETH

 

Rhys and I wait a moment before we start our scene. (People are still clapping anyway.) He looks me dead in the eyes, and he just looks so  _ trusting _ . I realize then that he’s not acting. That’s just Rhys. 

 

And then the clapping dies down and we have to start our scene so we  _ do  _ and the audience is laughing which is fine, I guess, but they’re not supposed to be laughing and I just feel like a nervous mess. I wish I could just kiss Rhys and calm down.

 

Then I realize I have to do that anyway. So I wait till I’m supposed to kiss him, and then I  _ do  _ and it’s just as good as the first time, but he breaks away just like he’s supposed to and I miss his lips in an instant.

 

We go through our lines (and kiss some more, as scripted, sort of) and my breath stutters a second when he tells me he loves me, but the rest of it goes smoothly. The rest of the cast comes out to sing us offstage, and we exit together, my arm over the back of his wheelchair. 

 

Agatha has a whole song after she discovers she’s pregnant, and she’s the only one on stage besides Philippa and Marcus, so none of us really pay attention to it. Besides, us guys have to change our clothes for our next scene, and it takes a bit to do that. 

 

All four of us who were onstage race into the dressing room. (We’re the only ones who need to change—Baz is technically dead and Simon’s in this scene as his original character.) From there, it’s a flurry of new shirts and pants, of discarded uniforms and thrown-about ties. 

 

One of the stage crew freshman, whose name I can never remember, peeks his head in at us and waves us out of the room. Luckily, no one’s got anything hanging out, so I give the kid a thumbs up. 

 

I’m standing with my hand on the back of Rhys’s wheelchair, and I nod at both Dev and Niall. Dev nods back, but Niall just kind of gives me a cool look. Prick. Sometimes I forget just how much time he spends with Baz. 

 

Finally, Simon gives us our cue line, and we jump onstage like the rowdy pack of boys we’re supposed to be. (Most of us are jumping anyway. Rhys at one point does a wheelie.)

 

DEV 

 

I kind of hate this scene. Sure, it lets me have seven words that I say rather than five, but still. 

 

This scene was originally supposed to be a circle jerk but Ms. Possibelf ruled that out real fast, so now it’s some sort of fight club thing. We had to change around a bunch of lines, but the licensing company is letting us, so it doesn’t matter that much. Whatever, at least we still get stage combat, although it kind of sucks that I have to be the one who gets beat up first, before we turn to Simon. (I guess it makes sense, I  _ am  _ the smallest.)

 

I don’t know, this scene never makes any sense. Not even when it’s got the right lines or when it’s actually played as a circle jerk. 

 

Whatever, it’ll be over in a minute. We just have to freeze first, because Agatha, Philippa, and Marcus have a scene inside our scene—the part where Agatha dies. 

 

AGATHA

 

Ugh, I really don’t like this part. One, I hate screaming, because it screws up my voice. I still have another song I need to sing! And two, because Marcus’s hands are sweaty. You’d think that that wouldn’t be a problem, except he has to cart me offstage physically, and that usually involved him grabbing my arm with his clammy hands and yanking. 

 

Luckily, I have about twenty seconds before that happens, as the guys have the end of their scene to do. They go running offstage, and I brace myself for Marcus’s nasty hands. I make sure to move quickly through the rest of the scene, so that I can shrug him off of me as soon as I get backstage, which I do. 

 

Baz is already waiting for me, and we walk down under the trapdoor together. (The trapdoor was Penny’s idea, and I’ll give it to her—it makes the part of the next scene where Baz and I come back as ghosts so much cooler.)

 

We hear Simon start his ramble, a messy humor of lines that sometimes feel more like  _ Simon  _ than  _ Melchior.  _

 

Baz has this look on his face and I just can't place it. His eyes are open, and through the little crack in the floor, a small beam of light makes them look almost transparent. They’re narrowed, but not in an angry way. He looks almost captivated by Simon’s voice. I feel like I shouldn’t be looking at him, so I focus on my hands instead. 

 

Baz reaches his cue, so he opens the door silently and jumps out onstage. The fog that they poured over the floor seeps in and presses into my eyes. 

 

But I hear Baz sing his first line, so softly and haunting it makes my arm hairs raise. 

 

He’s getting more menacing, and yet his volume hasn’t raised all that much. And then Simon yells his line, and I rise up to sing, rushing towards the both of them. 

 

There’s something… off… about this number tonight. I don’t know what it is. But Simon and Baz don’t seem like they’re acting. They seem like they understand each other better than anyone else, like they can speak without saying anything or breaking character. It’s weird to see when you’re on the outside of it, especially because the two of them have hated each other for so long. 

 

I wonder what changed. 

 

We get to the part of the song where Baz and I leave Simon alone onstage, and I’m supposed to lead him off. I turn to him, to guide him offstage, and he’s just standing there, staring at Simon, with a longing etched into his face I’ve never seen. And I know it’s acting, but I still instinctively reach my hand out and rest it on Baz’s arm. 

 

We walk off together, my hand still on his arm after we get backstage. He shakes his head out like a dog, and then Baz is back, in all of his poise and composure. 

 

As the stage blacks out, and Simon walks off, I can’t help but feel as though I’ve witnessed Baz having a  _ moment _ , one that people always dream about experiencing, but rarely ever do. But now it’s gone, dissipated with the smoke that blanketed the floor and snaked around our ankles. 

 

The lights go up on a mostly empty stage, and Trixie steps out into the center. 

 

TRIXIE

 

I step out into the light and take a breath, raising the microphone to my lips. And I sing.

 

I call everyone out of the wings– tell them of wonders yet unseen, of peace and freedom and light. Of hope.

 

Finally, they join me in singing. It sounds like the gods themselves have taken over our voices. Baz enters on my left, and he gives me a small smile as he takes his place. I smile back at him. 

 

When I face front, I feel like all of the lights in the room are flowing through my chest, and I think,  _ this is why I do this.  _ This feeling right here, makes everything worth it. 

 

We all sing the last note, and I breathe out in the dark moment before we bow, before the lights come back on and turn us back into ourselves. 

 

Before I have to go back to being me. 

 

SIMON

 

We bow. And we stand. And we bow again. 

 

The spotlights are blinding, and so is the light inside of me. I’m shaking, I’m sweating, I think I’m still crying from the graveyard scene, and I don’t even care. Baz has an arm around my waist, and I can’t help but to lean in to him. He’s somehow not sweaty and gross—or, at least, not as much as I am. We lock eyes, and he pulls out a smile, soft and yet still so full of himself. (I’ll kiss it off of him when there aren’t five hundred people clapping for us.)

 

The rest of the boys don’t really pick up on the fact that Baz is just doing this holding thing for me, so they all sling arms over each others’ shoulders until we’re one long chain of  _ boy _ with Rhys on the end. Gareth is holding his hand, and he blushes happily when he sees me smile at him. Then the girls pile in, and soon it’s one big mash of theatre kids linking arms and standing together. Finally, someone (I think it’s Baz, it might be Penny from side stage) yells at us to move off, so we do. No one drops an arm until we’re all backstage. (Which sucks, by the way. Good thing Baz is still holding on tight to my waist; otherwise I would’ve drowned in a pile of sweaty high schoolers.)  Penny is standing back for a second, but after hugging Agatha and saluting Baz, she wraps me in her arms and doesn’t let go.

 

Around me, there’s a cacophony of crying and hugs and “we did it!”s and “first one down!”s. But in my head, it’s quiet. 

 

Here, backstage with a boy I think I love holding on to me, with my best friend practically cutting off my air supply in a lung-crushing hug, I feel at home. 

 

_ Home  _ and I have never really been friends. Sure, there were the foster homes I stayed in, and my dorm room with Baz, but those all just felt like houses. Like rooms but not like living spaces. I could breathe in them, but I couldn’t just  _ be _ in them. 

 

I finally feel like I can do both here. 

 

I feel like I’ve reached the end of a big adventure. It took bravery and quick thinking (or none at all), perseverance and giving in, love and hate to get me here, but goddamnit, I got the treasure chest. No more worrying or dreaming about my parents to save me, for a family that I knew didn’t want me but I still hoped did. No more waiting for people to come to me. I have my people—I don’t have to be alone anymore. I have my family, more than any mother or father could be. 

 

I found them, but they also found me. 

 

_ And nothing is the same until you know that they have found you.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking around with this. one more to go :)
> 
> tumblr: infinityonhighvevo


	12. twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the show is over; spring is turning into summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs in this: the song of purple summer.

SIMON

 

_ All the sadness, the doubt, all the loss all the grief, will belong to some play from the past.  _

 

The second night comes and goes. The Sunday matinee comes and goes, with a bit more crying and flowers. (The rest of the cast got flowers for all the seniors– me, Baz, Agatha, Penny, Gareth, and Rhys– which  _ had  _ to be super expensive. I teared up when Dev gave me mine, and he gave me a weird look.) Finally, the Sunday night show comes and goes, and we get a standing ovation at the end that seems much louder than the nights before. (Penny says that it’s because all of her siblings came and not just one, but I don’t believe her.)

 

Backstage, we all pile together for a photo, and I feel Baz’s sweaty hand snake around my waist. I smile up at him as they take the first photo that absolutely no one is looking in. My face feels like it’s going to fall off after we finish with photos, and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

 

Finally, everyone changes and goes out to see their families. I always stay behind at this point. No need to go out and see family I don’t have, so I sit down at the mirror and open my phone, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. Although, I do see that I have an unopened email from Mr. Mage—he wants us to meet tomorrow. I send him a confirmation that yes, I will be there, and go back to Instagram. Then there’s a tap on my shoulder, which makes me jump and jerk my head up. 

 

“Wanna get ice cream?” Baz says, still smirking at me for jumping, and  _ god _ , does he look good. He’s just wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans that fit really well, and yet he looks like a god. I want to tackle him and kiss him until he can’t breathe, but there are parents outside, so instead I grin and take his hand. 

 

I always forget that Baz has a car on campus (because he’s a pretentious asshole like that), but right now it’s really handy. As we drive, I text Penny so that she knows where I am. 

 

“Can you seriously not drive yet?” Baz asks me. 

 

“Nope,” I respond. “Never had the money or the car to get a permit.”

 

“The second part is valid, but don’t permits cost legitimately five dollars?”

 

“It’s not like I’ve ever been given an allowance, Baz.”

 

He shakes his head sheepishly. “Right. Forgot about that.”

 

“It’s fine. Really.” It honestly is. “Besides, I probably would be a shitty driver.” Baz laughs at that. 

 

As we round the corner, I wonder where Baz’s family is, and with a sickening jolt I realize they didn’t come. His father probably wouldn’t allow them. (Granted, I’m pretty sure he only has very young siblings, but usually his step-mom comes.) 

 

He parks a block down from the ice cream place, and we both get out of the car. I’m nervous, for some reason. The two of us, here, together, just us, means that this is a legitimate date. Like a real, we’re boyfriends kind of date. And, believe me, I want that more than anything. But it’s still scary to make it real. 

 

“Can I hold your hand?” I say quietly. Baz doesn’t respond—he just takes my hand in his. 

 

This is the most peaceful I’ve ever felt, I think. Walking with a boy I think I might love, holding his hand, and not even caring. It’s wonderful. 

 

We get our ice cream (I get a cookies and creme milkshake that makes Baz roll his eyes, and he gets a cup of mint chocolate chip that makes me grin because of how  _ him  _ it is) and sit down at a tiny table in the back. I try not to feel too guilty about him paying for the both of us, but he makes sure to let me know that he’s spending his father’s money and somehow that makes me feel better about it. (Does that count as revenge? Using a homophobe’s money for a gay ice cream date?)

 

But we sit for hours and we just talk and laugh and enjoy each other’s company and all I feel is light and free and happy. 

 

We’re probably not allowed off-campus, just the two of us, but usually teachers turn a blind eye to Watford kids in the town here so long as we’re not, like, setting things on fire or stealing. But I still feel as though we need to get back to campus sooner rather than later. And also Penny’s been texting me the whole time complaining about her brother, and I feel almost guilty for leaving her alone with him. Almost. 

 

Baz sees me check my phone, and sighs, although he’s smiling. “What, do you need to get back before your dress turns to rags and your coach turns into a pumpkin?” 

 

“No- sorry, I just- Penny-” I exhale out of my nose and take a second to put my thoughts back into the right order. “Penny’s complaining about her brother in the form of a ten page essay of text messages.” I show him I’m shutting off my phone, then place it on the table. He licks another bit of ice cream off his spoon, and I finally let myself just stare at him. It’s dark out, but the neon open sign makes Baz look like an actual piece of art. Like something you’re never supposed to touch. (I want to, though. I want to run my hands all over him.)

 

“God, you’re beautiful,” I say, and then immediately realize that that was out loud and not in my head like I wanted it to be. Shit. 

 

He looks at me, expression completely and purposefully neutral. Then, he slowly breaks out into one of the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen. (On  _ anyone.  _ The fact that it’s Baz’s smile is doubly impressive, considering he spends so much times with an ‘I-hate-everything’ face.) It’s got a bit of a wicked edge to it, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen Baz’s face without that. I can feel my face flushing, though. He glances around the shop quickly, then leans over and presses a kiss to my neck. Which just makes me flush a different shade of red. 

 

He leans back, smiles like he didn’t just melt my brain, and says, “Are we heading back soon, then?”

 

BAZ

 

I have absolutely no idea if that’s what people are supposed to do on dates. Is it wrong to kiss your boyfriend’s neck in public? Probably. Was the look on Simon’s face worth it?

 

Absolutely. 

 

He’s still working on a sentence, even after we’ve gotten up from the table, even after we’ve walked back to my car and I’ve held the door for him. 

 

“How are you so good at this?” he finally grumbles, when he thinks I’m not listening. I try not to smile too big at that. Luckily, he doesn’t notice. 

 

We walk back into our room together, and I’m so tired that I almost collapse in my bed right away. But I was raised with dignity, so I brush my teeth and change into pajamas first, and then I collapse in my bed. Simon gets in his bed, and I feel my heart sink a tiny bit at the thought of not having him in my bed tonight. I was kind of getting used to a human space heater. 

 

But just as I’m drifting off, the floor creaks, and then Simon’s whispering, “Baz? Can I…?” and I’m throwing my arm out from under the covers and suddenly I have my arms full of boy like I wanted.

 

I fall asleep so much easier. 

 

PENELOPE

 

Simon bows out of another one of our study sessions to talk to the Mage (again), and I can’t help but to feel like something is up. Simon still doesn’t know that the Mage could possibly be his father. (I’m not positive it’s him, but I don’t know who else it could be, so I haven’t ruled him out completely). I don’t know, I’m just a bit worried. 

 

I don’t want to spy on them, exactly, but I do want to know what’s going on in their meeting. 

 

Luckily, Baz has to talk to the Mage about something anyway. Even more luckily, I manage to catch him before he goes in to talk to him and give him a quick rundown that basically boils down to  _ please tell me what they’re saying in that meeting.  _

 

Befriending Baz Pitch was a good move on Simon’s part. And I guess I have three friends now, so that’s nice. 

 

Actually, I’m not really sure if Baz is my friend just yet. We have had many good debates, especially to confuse Simon, which is nice. But I still don’t trust him fully. There’s just something in his face when he looks at Simon…

 

Whatever. Simon’s always more on edge with him than I am. I’m sure if there’s a problem either the two of them I’ll hear endless complaints from Simon about how Baz is plotting something. I’m used to that one. 

 

Anyway, I sit at the closest seat in the library to the Mage’s office door, and watch for Simon. (And Baz, I guess.)

 

BAZ

 

I honestly don’t have to say anything the Mage. Really, I just need to make sure that Ms. Possibelf, who also happens to be secretary as well as drama club head, received some of my test scores that somehow aren’t on file so that I can actually go to college. 

 

But Bunce asks me to listen in on Simon’s conversation with the Mage, and it’s not like I’m going to say no to that. One, because I do not trust the Mage, especially not around Snow, and  _ especially  _ not after learning that he has Snow on a fucking leash. Two, because I’m a nosy little bitch. 

 

I confirm with Ms. Possibelf that she has my tests, and then I end up chatting with her about how the show went anyway. Thankfully, she doesn’t ask if my family came to see it. (My Aunt Fiona did come to one of the shows, but not my father or my stepmother.) (I still haven’t spoken to my father.)

 

But eventually, I get tired of stalling while trying to listen to Simon’s conversation, and my conversation with Ms. Possibelf slowly dies out.

 

So I leave. I see Bunce failing at hiding her eavesdropping, so I shake my head at her, and she goes back to reading. I don’t have anything better to do, so I sit down next to her. “The door’s too thick to hear anything, anyway,” I tell her. 

 

She sighs. “Yeah, but I just don’t trust whatever’s happening in there, you know?” Then she realizes how that sounds, and her eyes widen. “Like, not in a  _ super _ bad way, just in a—you know what, I can’t even dig myself out of this hole so I am going to stop talking.”

 

I snort. “Weird way of putting it, Bunce, but I get what you’re saying.”

 

I watch Ebb walk into the office, then I turn back to Bunce, who’s started describing the book she’s reading. I’ll ask Snow about his meeting later, I guess. 

 

EBB

 

All I needed was to check if the new bandages came in for the nurse, because she asked me to grab them for her. And because this is a school, everything goes to the front office. Which never made sense to me, by the way. Why not just have a mailroom or something?

 

But it is very hard to miss the sound of arguing from The Mage’s office. Arguing that sounds suspiciously one-sided with a touch of Simon stammering. 

 

I silently pull out my phone and pretend I’m reading something on it, but instead I pull up the camera and aim it as lowkey as I can at the office window. 

 

I’m glad I have my camera out, because I get a perfect shot of The Mage, the head of the entire high school, dropping books to make Simon jump and threatening to hit him with said books. Both of which are enough for me to go to the head of the entirety of Watford Academy and have him fired. 

 

No one— _ no one— _ should treat anyone like that. Especially if that someone is your student. 

 

I leave the office hurriedly so that I avoid talking to The Mage. I see the young Pitch boy flick his eyes up at me, and then down to his phone again, although I can tell he’s still watching me out of the corner of his eye. 

 

As I pass him, I say loud enough for only him to hear, “If Simon needs anything, send him my way. If not, still tell him I’m taking care of the big things.”

 

He makes eye contact with me as I’m walking away and I can see the gears turning in his head. He nods imperceptibly and goes back to his phone. 

 

I don’t breathe out until I make it back to my office,  _ after _ I’ve talked to Watford Academy’s Council for Staff Misconduct. (Or whatever they’ve called it; really, it’s just the head of school likes to feel special sometimes.)

 

I feel uneasy for the moment, but I know everything will work out okay. 

 

Everything will be okay. 

 

BAZ

 

Snow, Penny and I are stretched out on a blanket on the lawn– it’s warm today. I’ve got my head in Snow’s lap, and he’s got his hands in my hair. Next to us sits a discarded picnic that at this point is just paper wrappings from sandwiches we got from the sandwich place next to school and half finished sodas. 

 

It’s weird, that this time next year I’ll have gone through my first year of college. My father wants me to go through business school, but he’ll just have to deal with me going to the regular part of UChicago and not their business school. It’s not like he can be disappointed with me going to one of the best schools in the country. At least, he can’t be disappointed in me for college-related decisions. 

 

Snow’s taking a gap year to get a job and make some money so that he’s not permanently in debt. I’m not really sure if he’s deferred somewhere or just didn’t apply, although Watford usually pushes for people to defer rather than just not apply. 

 

I feel kind of weird about that. My family could pay for Simon to go to college with minimal backwards looks. But I can’t ask them to do that. One, because they hate me for being gay and two, they hate me for dating the Mage’s charity project and they  _ definitely  _ do not want to make him their own. 

 

Campus has been weird without the Mage. Ebb apparently told the school that he had been physically abusing Simon, and so they had to do an investigation. And it turns out, she was right—Bunce’s mom, Professor Bunce, is in charge for the time being. (Simon wouldn’t look at anyone for a week after the investigation started, especially not teachers. I held his hand and led him to most of his classes, and Penny and I made  _ sure _ no one said shit about him.)

 

“Oh, by the way, did either of you see the city’s paper? They did an article on our show and  _ apparently _ they loved it!” Penny says excitedly, pulling up said article on her phone. I skim it, briefly, but honestly?

 

I don’t care what it has to say. I have everything I need. 

 

I have my happy ending. I’ve got the most perfectly messed up, golden boyfriend, and I don’t think I’ll ever let him go. I have a spot at a top college doing something I love. I have a future. I have hope. 

 

Above me, the sun is shining. It really is beautiful out today. 

 

_ And all shall know the wonder—I will sing the song of purple summer _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for sticking with me through this whole mess of a fic over these past few months. this fic was a way for me to get rid of the hold spring awakening had on me lol (i was in it at my school) and i’m so glad you enjoyed it!
> 
> as always, my tumblr is infinityonhighvevo come hang out and say hi :)

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr: @infinityonhighvevo


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